


What Kind of Monster Are You?

by Quarkitty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bloodplay, Branding, Drowning, Foot Fetish, Forced Rape, In which I try to write a multichapter thing, M/M, Mind Games, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape, Self Harm, Suicide mention, Vomit, everyone gets drunk and makes mistakes, foot trauma, non-con, passed out rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkitty/pseuds/Quarkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon Greyjoy is a senior at Winterfell University and boy, is he pissed that for his last year of school he has to deal with his weirdo roommate. Ramsay Bolton might just be the worst ever, he's neat, sure, but there's something darker to him that Theon just can't figure out. Call it fatal attraction, call it stupidity, but Theon can't get away from him. After a drunken night and Theon's biggest mistake, Ramsay has some very serious blackmail on him. Theon's entire academic career--and perhaps his life--rest in the hands of a man who is ready to turn him into the perfect pet, and the perfect toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spiced Rum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AeonDelirium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonDelirium/gifts).



> Hello~! I am going to take a stab at writing a) a modern college AU and b) a multichapter longer work of fiction. There will be lots of smut and graphic violence, it is after all a Thramsay fic. The usual warnings apply, it's Ramsay Bolton here, he's not the kindest little gumdrop in the series.
> 
> I hope you all like where I take this, as I'm not really sure what I'm doing! I promise it will be sexy and hopefully a little funny, and oh yes, full of the usual Reek angst and "I am a sadisitc motherfucker, love me" Ramsay stuff. Follow me on Tumblr @ Quarkity and talk Bolton stuff to me, I'd love to discuss with you!

**ONE: SPICED RUM**

“He fucking wears a wolf bone necklace.” Theon checked his apartment peep hole. “I swear to god, he has a necklace made from a wolf's bone. A real wolf. A toe I think. Or a rib, I don't know. I don't care. He's gross already. Help me Robb.”

Theon Greyjoy didn't want a roommate for his senior year. He had paid his dues for three years with a slew of weirdos he had to share a space with, and just for once he wanted to be able to walk around naked, be loud, and not worry about leftovers in the fridge. The on-campus apartments were too expensive to rent alone though, and his father balked when he showed him the price of a single.

Robb laughed on the other end of the phone line. Robb's parents shelled out big bucks to rent him a single bedroom apartment, which he was thrilled to share with no one but his own dirty socks and poli-sci homework. The Starks did everything for their eldest son, it was a little hard not to be jealous.

“Where is he now?”

Theon scanned the pathway from the peephole. It was moving day, what the hell was the guy doing out walking around campus?

“Dunno, he just walked out about a half hour ago and hasn't come back. All his shit is still in boxes. He didn't bring much with him though, meanwhile I look like I just moved an entire floor of IKEA here.”

“What's his name again? Rammert?”

“Ramsay. Not sure the last name. When I got my confirmation e-mail from the school they said I was rooming with a Snow, but I know he introduced himself to me as something else. Can't remember what. Psych major. Never seen him before, I don't think. I would have remembered this guy, he's an ugly son of a bitch.”

“Uglier than you?” Theon could hear the smile in Robb's voice. _Very funny,_ Theon scowled. It wasn't that he ever had a difficult time hooking up with people, but he frequently felt out of touch with his own body. Some days Theon felt he was attractive and suave—other days he had to turn his mirrors backwards and couldn't stand the feel of his own skin and bones.

“I'll ignore that. He looks like an ox. Big broad face, long black hair to his shoulders.”

“I don't trust dudes with hair longer than yours.”

Theon self consciously ran a hand through his mop. It needed a cut, but it pissed off his dad and that was what mattered. At twenty-two, Theon was ashamed at how much he liked riling things up still. He thought he'd grow out of illegal fireworks, pranks on his sister, sneaking home drunk, and piercing his body. But four years past legal adulthood and all he had to show for adulthood was pierced nipples and a few cheap tattoos (all nautical themed, naturally).

“And he wears an earring. Just the one. Who does that, is it the 90's in California? That's a little too fruity even for me.” Theon kicked off his worn down Converse and tossed them by the door. He remembered when he got his ear pierced in a friend's basement at fourteen. His father had screamed his throat raw, claiming one earring on the right side made Theon look gay. He had just shrugged and said, _well it's half true, ain't it?_ and earned himself a smack “And his eyes, there's no color to them, they're almost white. He's creepy, something about him rubs me the wrong way. He's not a big talker, so hopefully he'll just leave me the hell alone. I'm going to crash at your place all the time, I hope you realize this.”

“When Jeyne isn't here, you mean.”

“Oh come on. How often is she going to be there?” Theon tried to hide his annoyance. He started pacing in the new, tiny apartment and slammed his hand on the yellowed fridge. Jeyne was— _nice_. But that's about he had to say about her. She was forgettable and never laughed at his dumb jokes. Straight A's, Dean List, a double major in French and Literature. Not the type of girl Theon ever saw Robb settling down with, but he loved her somehow. Theon expected them to date once and never speak again, but it had been two years and Jeyne was already making Pinterest boards labeled “Dream Wedding  <3”.

“Calm down. Jeyne puts up with your shit all the time.”

“Yeah but, I can't be alone here all the time with Ramsay Snow or whatever the fuck his name is. Guy will kill me and wear my bones around his neck,” The sound of keys jangling startled Theon and he bounced away from the fridge. “Shit. Shit, I'll call you back.” Theon hung up before Robb could butt in.

The door swung open, Ramsay walked in and without making eye contact, strode across the living area towards his room at the end of the hall. Half heatedly, Theon lifted a hand.

“Hey roomie. 'Sup?” He nodded and folded his arms. _Remain casual,_ he told himself, _lest he'll cut me up and stuff me in a pillowcase._ He eyed the wolf bone necklace. When he had asked what it was, Theon thought Ramsay was just joking. But he insisted it was real, and that he made it himself.

“Yup.” Ramsay grunted and closed his door.

Theon took out his phone and sent a text to Robb: _“Ramsay is Jeffrey Dahmer, I swear to god I am going to get murdered.”_ He headed towards his own room to finish unpacking and leaned an ear against their shared wall. Nothing, it was too quiet. He didn't even hear shuffling.

The phone vibrated. Robb again. _“LOL, good luck. I should come by for a drink?”_

He tried to stifle a chuckle. _“You know what, you should. Bring the coke, I got the rum. Kraken, of course.”_

Barely a minute passed. _“Is that the only thing you drink? I'll be there in fifteen.”_

* * *

“And then I said to him, I said, hey listen. Ramsay, buddy! _Ramsay!_ C'mon, come in here with us. Don't be shy.” Robb whistled and poured another rum and coke, the fizz boiling over the brim. “I said to Arya, you need to take your own dog out on its own walks, and don't get my Greywind involved in this shit-- wait a second.” He was drunk, Theon smiled to himself. Robb got drunk hard and fast, usually off a drink and a half. “Ramsay!” He screamed. “Come in here, meet your new roommate! Have a drink, or two, have a thing. Be a friend! Theon isn't scary, though sometimes he sure does fucking smell, so have fun with that.”

“Shh, shhh, he might actually come in here,” Theon snickered, hiding his teeth with his hand. He was always painfully aware of them, how they overlapped and jutted out a bit. It was just Robb around but somehow that made it worse. Robb was classically handsome, Theon was what might call an acquired taste. A comma for a mouth, twisted teeth, skinny arms, and knotted hair. He hoped his sense of humor made up for his gangly neck and bony fingers. Theon traced his plastic cup with his thumb, a nervous habit. “Leave him alone, Robb. It's our first night together, I don't want to die before midterms, alright?”

Robb threw his head back in a raucous bark. “Where would he hide the body?” He lifted himself from the broken leather couch and strutted to Ramsay's bedroom door. “God that couch sucks, man. Your back is going to be broken before October.” Mid-sentence, he rapped his knuckles on the chipped white paint. “Ramsay! Come meet your roommate and his,” he was laughing so hard that the words turned to gravy, “his brother from another mother!” The joke made Theon smile. He _did_ feel like Robb's brother sometimes, they were closer than Robb and his younger brothers Bran and Rickon, and they had more in common than Robb did with his two sisters.

Theon grabbed the edge of his sweater and stuffed the sleeve in his mouth to keep from laughing any louder. He waved his hands frantically, trying to tell Robb to stop knocking.

“Ramsay! Ramsay! Come on, we're your new friends for the year!” He started pounding to the tune of Queen's “We Will Rock You”, nodding his head along to the beat. “ _Ramsay Snow!”_

The door opened with a sudden burst of energy, hitting Robb square in the nose. He clutched his face with a gasp, nursing two newly bloodied nostrils. Sprinting over to his friend, Theon uncovered Robb's hand from his face.

“Shit Robb. I think you might have broken your nose.” Theon felt clear, the buzz of drinking shoved aside.

Robb lifted a finger, pointed towards the broad shouldered hulk in the doorway. “You knew I was there, you did it on purpose.” He spat a mouth full of blood out onto the threadbare carpet, coughing out globs of pink glue.

“Calm down, no he didn't.” Theon looked up at Ramsay, their eyes locked.

Ramsay's smirk was evident, and it told Theon everything he needed to know about their power structure. _Had his_ _eyes always been that deeply inset and so unsettling_ _?_ Theon's mind felt like three AM vodka, he was reeling and fading the more he gazed at his new roommate. Ramsay's red t-shirt fit snug over his barrel chest, his black jeans rode low on his hips, the knees faded and creased from years of wear. His long black hair was pushed behind his ear—a small earring shaped like a blood drop, or perhaps a red tear, was in his right lobe. Theon's eyes followed the curve of it—small and shimmery. Even though he was inside his own room, Ramsay wore a pair of black boots, the toes metal plated and gleaming. Ramsay looped a finger across his belt buckle—a piano black X. The wolf bone necklace hung on a loose piece of leather around his neck, and Theon suppressed and urge to touch it and feel its edges, its hardness. Theon blinked first, breaking the stare, and a chill ran up his spine in octaves. _His eyes look possessed._

“If we are going to room together for a whole year,” Ramsay's voice was oil, leather, something hot and melting, “you better behave.”

“Oh please, like we're the first twenty-two year olds to get drunk in an apartment. God, you _are_ a sociopath douche bag.” Robb wiped his face, leaving a smear of fresh blood and snot across his chin and cheek.

“It's okay Robb. We were being pretty loud.” Theon glanced up at Ramsay. That stare pinned him down like a frog. Something in him was afraid to disagree.

Robb whipped his head from Ramsay to Theon so rough that his neck popped.

“You agree with him?”

“We were being pretty loud, Robb. We should apologize.”

“I'm drunk as hell but I'm not dunk past the point of common sense. I know he did it on purpose.”

“You seem pretty clear headed now that I hit you though. So maybe you should be thanking me for your sudden soberness. There's nothing worse than someone who pretends to be drunker than they really are.” Ramsay leaned his shoulder against his door frame and crossed his arms. The subtle movement highlighted his biceps. He wasn't outright muscular, but he was toned behind a slight wall of fat. _Husky_ , the word popped into Theon's mind and he let it roll over a few times like honeyed mead.

Theon lifted Robb up by his waist and wedged himself between the two, his back facing Ramsay. He didn't want to make contact with those eyes again, they were too light to be real.

“Come on Robb, let's not start a big thing. Okay?”

“I didn't. I wasn't the one who slammed a door into someone's face.”

“Just let it go, come on. The semester haven't even started yet. New year, new start.”

Robb glared at Ramsay and shook his head.

“You touch my friend and I will put more than door into your face.” Theon cringed at Robb's attempt to sound dangerous. He loved his friend, but Robb was barely capable of killing spiders and never even cheated on a test. Pitted against one another, Ramsay would be able to floss with Robb and pick his teeth after he was done. “I'm gonna call Jeyne to pick me up, I can't drive home like this.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, walking outside. Robb slammed the door behind him, the apartment was suddenly quiet.

Theon nervously glanced up at Ramsay, allowing his gaze to just reach the tip of his lips not his eyes. _He scares me, he has no impulse control,_ Theon was even afraid to think it, wondering if his roommate could read his mind. It would not surprise him, that gaze was otherworldly.

“Hey, look, I'm sorry about Robb. He can't hold a drink very well. I'm, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, “a lot better, maybe. At handling liquor. I promise.”

Ramsay scoffed. “I don't care if you drink. Especially not if you give me some.”

“Were we too loud?” Pathetic. Theon caught himself actually worried about hurting Ramsay's feelings. _This asshole hurt my best friend, why am I concerned about him?_

“Nah. My home was a lot louder than you guys, I promise you that.” He brushed his hand across his belt loops and something took a bite out of Theon's chest. “Just don't call me Snow.” With that, Ramsay turned on Theon and closed the door.

The rum suddenly felt too strong—Theon lurched and gagged.

 


	2. TWO-Corona and Lime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Robb hand out invitations for a night at the bar, and on a whim they decide to invite Ramsay. Much to their dismay, he actually wants to tag along. Will Theon survive the awkwardness? Won't Ramsay stop picking his hands (come on dude, that's nasty)? Will that urge Theon has for another body to hold go away?

TWO: CORONA AND LIME

Robb kicked the printer with the side of his canvas slip ons.

“School property, watch out. They'll charge you six figures if you break the library printer.” Theon bit his thumbnail. It had been less than fory-eight hours since Ramsay slammed a door into Robb's face, and his nose was still swollen and purple. He hadn't seen his roomate since, he stayed locked up in his room, presumably unpacking what little he brought. Sometimes Theon would hear a muffled hum of music (He thought he heard some blues guitar and harmonica, which surprised him. Ramsay didn't seem like the type.) but other than that, he made little noise.

“I don't care, I'll be paying off my loans for the rest of my life. What's another one hundred thousand, eh?” He whipped a stack of fliers from the printer feed and threw some playfully at Theon. “Think you can pass out half of these?” Theon glanced down at the flier.

_**TEQUILA JOE'S!** _

Get smashed, get ready for a new school year!

It's your last weekend of freedom before Monday classes. :(

This Saturday! (Yes, tonight!)

September 6th, 9:00 PM – Whenever We Get Kicked Out

It then listed an address in block font. Theon smiled at the header graphic—their school's logo was a three headed dragon, much to the student body confusion. Robb was no great artist, but he could hold a pencil and frequently cartooned in his notebooks, he had drawn their mascot vomiting in a toilet, a pile of empty beer bottles by its feet.

“I miss that old dive,” Theon recalled. When he turned twenty-one last year, Theon and Robb spend nearly every weekend ordering happy hour shots at the local dive bar, Tequila Joe's. The place stank, but it was cheap, they rarely cared about rowdiness, and they had a barely working karaoke machine that always seemed like a good idea after a few drinks. “We haven't been there since, shit.” He stared at his fingers, as if he could count his life off on them. “St. Patrick's Day? When you had to carry me to the car. And Jeyne was mad because I think I ruined her sweater or something?”

Robb tutted. “You borrowed her hoodie because you were chilly and then in the bathroom you felt hot, so you shoved it into a urinal. Theon, you are such an ass, if I weren't your best friend I would hate you, you know.” He said it with a smile though. The two rarely fought, even when they had full reason to. It was difficult for Robb to hold a grudge longer than an hour, even if his face was splotchy and purple from Ramsay's mishap two nights ago. Robb hadn't even mentioned it yet, even after Theon asked him if he was properly pissed.

“I paid for it, right?” As soon as Theon asked, he knew he didn't. An ass was right, he tried his best but he usually ended up hurting his friends more than often than not. It was never out of malice, just negligence and foolishness.

“Don't worry about it, she wasn't really _that_ mad. Hey, c'mon, we have to start handing these out to get a crowd there. Remember last year when they had to call the fire department because there were so many kids there? We need that sort of excitement again to start our senior year out right.” Robb clasped Theon's shoulder and escorted him out of the library. Theon eyed the hand—Robb was always so touchy, it was just his nature. He was one for hugs, roughhousing and touching someone' s face just to make sure they were paying attention.

When Theon came out as bisexual, he feared that Robb would stop the touches. It had only been two years since he laid in Robb's dorm room, high off of some expired anti-anxiety pills they squirreled from Robb's sister, and confessed that he was attracted to all genders. Robb barely skipped a beat, Theon remembered. He just nudged his friend, playfully punching him. _“I know man, you don't think I see the way you eye guys? Friends always know that shit first.”_ Robb had told him, his eyes half open and crinkled like a pitch pit. Thankfully, Robb knew well enough to avoid the conversation as to whether or not Theon harbored a crush on him. It was a question he knew he couldn't answer one way or the other. Robb was in love with Jeyne, and was as straight as whiskey on the rocks. Yet, sometimes Theon couldn't help but think about the 'what ifs', and Robb's body sometimes crept up in his thoughts at night. He could never tell him, as supportive as Robb was, Theon didn't want to scare him away. More importantly, he didn't want the tender friendly touches like this one to ever stop.

“Hey Robb,” Theon chuckled. “What if we give one to Ramsay?”

Robb's smile turned in on itself quickly. “That could either be hilarious or go very poorly, depending. I don't know. Maybe he would think we actually liked him and he won't bother you. It's worth a try.”

“But if he hates us, he'll go there and crash the whole thing.”

“You can't crash Tequila Joe's. The place crashes itself.”

“True. I'll slide one under his door. What's the worse that could happen?”

“Oh, I don't know. He just creeps me out. I feel like he's done time or something, he looks like he's older than us. Maybe he started school late because he was in prison or some shit.”

“How's your—you know. How's your nose?”

Robb instinctively rubbed his face. “It's better. Listen, I was drunk, I don't want to think about it too much. Jeyne got me, everything's fine. I don't want to cause trouble with you and that guy. He really might be unhinged. So yeah, you know what. Give him an invite. So he won't blow our heads off for ignoring him or whatever it is serial killers do nowadays. It's not like he'll show up anyway, I doubt he has friends to drink with.”

The two traipsed across campus, from the library to the dorms and handed out a flier to every person that passed. Theon envied Robb's extroversion—he had friends of all ages and backgrounds, and could easily talk to people he'd never met before. Girls did double takes when he walked by, usually to admire his ginger hair or well-fitted jeans.

“For your evening's consideration,” Robb sang as he thrust a flier in front of a curly haired person wearing a long black coat. They smiled, only looking at Robb, pushing wayward strands out of their face. Theon chewed his lip. _Effortless_ , he thought, _he can charm goddamn anyone._

“Dude, isn't that whats-their-name? The necromancer?” Theon whispered, looking back at them reading the flier with a slight flush. Spending four years at the same place allowed for some wild rumors to spread, and Theon was ashamed to admit he was often gullible for gossip.

“Yeah and they're a good time, I wound up at their dorm once for a palm reading. C'mon, liven up, not everyone here is out to get you.”

“No one except Ramsay,” Theon joked, trying to force a flier between a gaggle of frat guys who pretended to ignore him.

They made a round of campus, and Robb cleared out all his fliers. Theon was left with half a stack. People just didn't listen to him the same way. His voice was scratchier, he stammered a bit and every time he tried to sound assertive he just sounded rude. The Starks often told him that he smiled at the wrong things, and didn't react to good news with joy but just mere indifference. He felt his wires were all messed up and crossed over.

“Well, how long do we got?” He glanced at his phone to check the time. It was barely two. “How many people do you think will show up?”

“Everyone I invited. And about one third of the people you asked,” Robb prodded Theon with his elbow. “But you still have one more person to ask.”

They neared the campus apartments and Theon swiveled his head, scanning for a sign of Ramsay. He didn't know what he expected to see: a murder of crows, maggots, lightning, anything to signify that he was home.

“Seriously though, what if he comes? What if he comes and just sits there sipping scotch and stares at us? What if he wants to hang out? Jesus Christ, what if he gets drunk and starts apologizing to you and gets way too chummy?” Theon unlocked the door, his voice low. He swung it open and was met with the burly sight of Ramsay on the couch, idly watching some nostalgic 80's movie with the volume down low.

“Well, we're about to find out,” Robb muttered, mostly to himself.

Ramsay never spent time in the common room. In the two days since he moved in, he must have only snuck to the kitchen while Theon was out at Robb's or preoccupied in his room. He looked awkward on the couch, his legs were spread and his arm was wrapped around a cushion, his fingers gently rubbing the fabric like lover's skin. His newly showered wet hair pooled damp puddles on his slightly too-small black T-shirt. _He never wears logos,_ Theon noticed. _Everything he owns is plain._

Theon cleared his throat.

“Hey. Um. Ramsay?”

Ramsay grunted. A wild boar, Theon made the connection again, half imagining tusks gutting out of those thick lips.

“Ever been to Tequila Joe's? On Waters Avenue?”

He couldn't imagine Ramsay leaving the house to go anywhere.

Ramsay touched his wolf bone necklace, as if asking it for advice like a magic eight ball. Theon swallowed a build up a saliva. The leather string looked soft, textured. Yet again he found himself drawn to it, his hands clammy and begging.

“Heard of it.”

“We're sort of pooling together, um, a bunch of people to go tonight. To kick off the year. If you wanted to go, that is. You could ride with us.”

The moment he said it, he could practically hear Robb's eyes widen. _Shit, shit, I didn't mean that_ , Theon gaped. But it was too late.

“You a designated driver?”

He needed a goddamn drink.

“I am,” Robb butt in.

“What? I thought you wanted to drink tonight.” Theon asked.

Robb shrugged. “I am not letting you drive my car.” Since he was sixteen, Robb had saved up money for a Monty Carlo and finally bought one over the summer. It was ostentatious and loud, but Jeyne loved to stick her head out of the T-tops and the racing stripes were slick. The rumble of it made Robb feel dangerous, even though he was already starting to collect a few speeding tickets here and there from his newly found lead foot.

The beat of silence between the trio melted across the room.

“So. Nine tonight?” _Why did it sound like a date, like he cared, why did it sound like he was making plans with someone he wanted to like him?_ Theon blinked hard. In times of stress his tic picked up like this. He was just a ball of nerves waiting to be shocked.

“Okay.” Ramsay turned his attention back towards the movie.

He needed a drink _and_ a body.

* * *

The ride to Tequila Joe's only took ten minutes thankfully. Ramsay rode in the backseat, quiet as ever, fiddling with the skin around his fingers. ( _Disgusting,_ Theon thought, but he watched in the mirror oddly fascinated at Ramsay tearing up his own cuticles. His hands were huge, meaty.) The neon sign was lit, as cheesy and camp as ever.

“Happy hour!” Robb screamed, pulling his rumbling boat of a car into the first open spot. “Two dollars for a Corona. God, what a gay drink though. Just for you, eh Theon?”

He was used to this. Used to it, but still not exactly okay with it.

“It tastes good with lime,” he insisted to no one in particular, pulling himself out of the car. A small crowd had formed near the entrance and he saw a few familiar faces on the porch, grabbing cigarettes and chatting. The curly haired necromancer, a woman with straight long hair and dark lipstick with her arm around a redhead, a footballer named Gendry, and that guy from his Modern Ethics course who wouldn't shut up (Stannis? Stan? Something unusual like that. He had been insufferable during group projects.)

Ramsay lurched awkwardly behind them, still in the same clothes. Theon shuffled ahead a little faster, afraid for people to think he was with his roommate. Glancing back at Robb (texting Jeyne to see where she was—typical), Theon motioned that he was going inside to mingle.

“You guys come here a lot?” Ramsay jogged up towards Theon. He nodded and scanned his favorite gross bar. The signs were obsolete, faded ads for beer brands long extinct. A few TVs showed some music videos and already there was someone crooning off to a pop song at karaoke. The mix was usually college students and a few biker men with rough beards and torn jackets, (usually there to annoy the young girls, if Theon was being honest). Ramsay scuffed his foot on the wooden floor. “This isn't exactly what I expected.”

“Hmm?”

“I don't know. You and that Robb guy. I figured you were,” he raised his eyebrows, “you know. Particular.”

“Particular?”

“Aren't _you all_ iffy about cleanliness?”

It took a Theon a moment.

“Woah. Robb and I aren't a thing. Robb's not--” he felt his voice dip. _But I am_. “Robb has a girlfriend.”

Ramsay clucked his tongue. “You sure?”

_Of course I'm sure, of course I'm fucking sure._ _Because he has white teeth and wide hands and his chin is dimpled and of course I'm sure._

“Yeah. I'm sure. They're serious.”

Theon pushed into the crowd, trying to loose Ramsay. Getting the bartenders attention, he called for a Corona. With lime. The first drink of the night. He downed it in four tilts of his head, the bubbles coating his throat and kick-starting his courage. Beer wasn't going to cut it tonight. He pulled out his wallet to check how many five dollar bills he brought.

“Hey,” Theon tapped the shoulder of the middle aged bartender. “Just give me two shots of vodka.”

He had his drink. Now he needed a body.

 


	3. THREE - Vodka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Robb end up at the bar, and Theon hungers for someone to play with. After one too many vodka shots, he finds someone who will love him tonight--but finds that he is thinking of someone instead. Why can't he get Ramsay out of his head?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the lovely Aeondelirium who helped me brainstorm this chapter! <3 <3 <3
> 
> And thank you everyone for the comments! Shit is getting REAL.
> 
> For optimal FEELS listen to Bright Eyes "Lover I Don't Have to Love" while reading this. Shhhh, you are welcome.

CHAPTER THREE: Vodka shots

When scared, Theon flapped his hands. It was a habit his father was embarrassed of. When he got lost in supermarkets, when he failed tests, when he failed his driver's exam, when he got scared of existing, he flapped his hands until his wrists grew sore. When he was barely eight, his father forced a sweater on him, and tied the sleeves together. _There's something wrong with you_ , he'd yell, _stop doing that, people will think you're a broken toy!_

Theon gripped his fists and pumped his fingers opened, closed. A drink usually cleared his head, but sometimes the opposite happened and he felt unnerved.

That Ramsay guy. Something about him scared him, though he couldn't figure out what.

Trying to appear at ease, Theon walked to the back room of the bar where the dance floor was. It was too early to be packed, but a few people were bouncing up and down, hand in a hand. He rarely danced with anyone, he just didn't know when to stop, where to start and how to make eye contact with someone across a dance room. But tonight, Theon wanted release. An eel bit at his insides, electric and slimy. He needed his hands around someone.

While Theon couldn't dance, he felt no shame in scoping someone out. Tequila Joe's wasn't the nicest place, but most people were desperate and open here. Previously, he had only gotten a few numbers of girls that could scarce remember his name when he'd call them. A few times he had pulled one into a corner and felt beneath their shirt, grinding his leg against them in tune to whatever dumb top 40 song was blaring out of the speakers behind them. Never in his life had he had a steady significant other, just a few hookups that lasted a few encounters. _Was that what he always wanted, he wondered,_ feeling the tight urge grow.

He scanned. The near empty floor didn't boast anyone intriguing to him. A few girls from school that he suspected were younger than twenty-one, some older couples who were wary of the college crowd, a guy with too many piercings and a baseball cap that needed to come off. He turned his back and scoffed, no one looked interesting. This was going to take just a few more drinks. Hoping Robb wouldn't find him, Theon ran his hands through his hair, and tried to appear more at ease than he really was. That he was only a bundle of nerves was his greatest secret.

Theon bought another vodka shot, tossing his money on the bar table in a puddle of melted ice. He downed it, already forgetting what number he was on. Three? Four? Did it matter? He looked for Robb, staring over bobbing heads. _Where did Ramsay go off to,_ he briefly wondered, hating himself for the thought. His vision started to shake and something wobbled deep in his chest. Was it worth another vodka shot already? Sure. He ordered the vanilla cream flavored one, and gagged on how fake sweet it was. Was this four? What was it?

 _Robb, Robb,_ he pushed through a crowd. It had only been about a half hour, how did it get this crowded? He stepped on a girl's foot. Pushed aside someone else. Theon smiled. _Always smiling at the wrong times,_ he reminded himself.

“Robb?” Theon called out. He wandered towards the karaoke table. He couldn’t possibly be already up there, could he? Theon figured he was the drunkest in the entire place, and he was just getting started. He tugged at the bandana that he wore around his neck. Sometimes he liked to pull it closer to his chin, to cover up his stubble and scarred cheek (a shaving incident, but oh how it has bled and bled).

A screech of sound system interference broke Theon's concentration on finding his friend. He glanced up at the karaoke stand.

Ramsay stood, a microphone in one hand, his other running through his long dark hair, pushing it out of his face. A bright light illuminated his figure, casting a shadow twice the size across the rest of the stage. His eyes followed his figure from him boots to the top of his hair. _How tall was he,_ Theon wondered, _six foot two? Six foot three?_

Theon grew hard instantly at the sight of his slightly parted lips, the microphone held up to his mouth. _Oh god. Oh god, oh no. Drunken thoughts, sober_ —what was the phrase? He didn't have time to ponder it, the music kicked in. A familiar guitar riff blared, with just a little too much bass.

 _House of Rising Sun,_ Theon recalled. His father had it on vinyl. The Animals. He used to try and touch the records when they spun, they soothed him. Patterns, consistency, the soft sounds of dust kicking up against the needle. He let himself drift back to childhood for a second, until Ramsay opened his mouth, his lips brushing ever so slightly up against the microphone. That tease.

“ _There is a house in New Orleans,_ ” Ramsay's voice was deep. Theon shifted a bit, still feeling the hardness pressed in his bands. _This guy hurt my friend,_ he reminded himself, his eyes focused onto the wolf bone necklace. He watched it rise and fall with Ramsay's inhaling and exhaling. _This guy hurt my friend, bloodied up his face, this guy hurt my friend, this guy hurt my friend._

His cock ached.

“ _Oh mother! Tell your children, not to do what I have done._ ” Ramsay spotted him in the crowd. Theon swallowed a rising bile. He had taken one shot too many. (Four? Five? It was hopeless to try and remember.) _He is singing to me_ , Theon scraped the thought from his head. Instinctively, he pulled out another five dollar bill, ready to exchange it for some alcohol. Drinking turned all things to goo, drinking rid the thoughts.

Ramsay lowered his eyes, stared at Theon from under his heavy brow bone. Colorless. Dangerous. _And I am the prey._

Theon turned on his heel and ran into the back room, called out for a bartender and slid the fiver across the table. Six? Seven? Was this approaching dangerous levels?

“Shot of vodka,” he demanded. No flavors, no nothing. He just needed release. It burned. His cock was still half hard and begging.

 _I need a body,_ he reminded himself. But not that one, please god, not that one.

“You know what? Same here,” Theon nearly jumped at the voice next to him. Speak of the damn unquenchable thirst he had—a young man Theon recognized from campus as an illustration major slid in to the empty bar stood next to Theon. He grinned, his face betraying himself. The young thing might have the best timing without even knowing it.

 _He will do, he has to do_. Someone other than Ramsay has to. Theon turned towards him, his mind searching for a name. Had they ever had class together? He couldn’t remember. He could barely focus on anything but the thickness of his own swollen cock pounding a heartbeat through his ears, his feet''s sturdiness on the floor and the look that damned Ramsay gave him. He knows I'm not straight, I didn't say I wasn't, Theon grasped at the straws of long gone soberness. He sang at me, he sang, he stared--

“Hey. Theon, right?”

_Shit he knows my name. Um, Christ, what letter does it start with? J? V? R?_

Theon tugged on his bandana again, giving his hands something to do other than twitch and flap. They shook. He hoped he looked relaxed and confident.

Nodding, he leaned against the bar, popping his hip out like he had done so many times at Tequila Joe's before. The bartender slid a shot of vodka across the table. The boy took it down easily, barely cringing. Slamming it on the table, he raised an eyebrow. Theon forced himself to look more at him. He was sexy, he knew he was sexy. He knew that any other night he would already be flirting. _I have to try, I have to get him out of my head, he hurt my friend._

“What's. Um. What's going?” He was drunk. He was so drunk. The level of drunk that turned friends into lovers and strangers into best friends. “I'm bombed.” As if it weren't obvious.

Thankfully, the boy laughed. Some of his long, dark brown hair fell in front of his face in waves. Imagining how it'd feel in his fists, Theon tried to picture fucking him and felt a little harder again. Was it just because the hair reminded him of—no. No. “This is. Hey, this is my. Who is counting? This is probably my sixth shot.” He detected an accent that he couldn't place, but the light flint of his voice gave him the chills.

“Make it one more and I'll pay.” Theon pulled out his wallet and tried to forget the dwindling bills. If they both got as drunk as possible, this would go easier. And then in the morning he could forget the bulge in his pants that rose when he looked at his roommate. It would be old news by then. “Another vodka?”

“That's the drink of the night, it looks like.”

“That's the _spirit_.”

“He's cute and he makes bad puns.” The boy laughed, leaning in towards him. _Oh, so I already have you?_ He smelled like vanilla and cookie dough. Precious, like Christmas and early winter snow.

Theon ordered another round and pressed in closer to his new partner, studying the rest of his face, hoping he would recall it come morning. There was a playful youthfulness about his face. Pale skin, slight stubble, light green eyes with a rim around the edge. _Color, eyes should have color to them_. It was louder in the backroom, they had to shout at one another. Theon pressed a hand against the boy's hip, moving him away from the bar table and towards an uncharted corner.

“How did you get an invite?” Theon asked, not sure if he was slurring his words, or even if his new partner could hear him. Yet, he couldn't remember inviting him—was it Robb who gave him one?

He didn't respond, only moved his mouth in towards Theon's.

“Theon Greyjoy,” the boy muttered his name against his lips as if he could forget it.

Faltering, Theon tried harder to remember a name, going through the alphabet. _Alfred, Ben?_ Shit, shit. Think. Senior. Illustration major? _Frank, Greg?_ Or was it poetry? _Jon? Kevin?_ He ran through his various semesters of general education classes. _Tommy?_ He couldn't remember anyone. _Vincent?_ Only two names ran through his head—Robb and Ramsay.

“Mrrrmmm,” Theon cooed, hoping that would suffice. _He assumes I know him, I can't ask now._ He kissed him back, his mouth feeling for his tongue. The taste and smell of alcohol lingered on the boy's pink lips. Theon moved his hands up to his chest, feeling his slight figure beneath his hands, dragging them across the thin cotton shirt. A black shirt. _Much like--_

_Shit. Shit!_

“Theon Greyjoy,” he spoke his name like it was dark chocolate. He was shorter than Theon, he felt he was devouring him as he leaned over him, deepening the kiss and running a hand up the back of his shirt, feeling the knots of his spine and digging his fingernails in long drags. The boy liked it, he gasped and moaned at the slight pain. “Come, come here,” he placed a hand on Theon's jeans and squeezed.

He paused. God, he wanted to fuck the little, aching thing. But his mind wasn't clear enough just yet.

“One more shot?” Theon asked, knowing he would broke. He needed to wipe that last lingering thought of a certain someone.

The boy nodded, his eyes unfocused, staring at nothing.

“Just one. Just one more.”

* * *

No one lingered in the men's bathroom. It was a 'go in, get out' sort of deal, and even then, Theon knew not many people frequented the backroom stalls. The front of house bathroom was nicer, with actual working sinks and clean mirrors. Back here, you didn't go unless you had to.

Or if you had a pretty little boy hanging by a thread.

They laughed, not capable of words anymore. Theon didn't care anymore if he knew his name or not. He was a good kisser, he'd be a good fuck toy. That was all that mattered. The bathroom lighting was dim, only a small flickering bulb was left in the overhead lamp.

“I'm so, I'm so,” the boy could barely speak. His tongue rolled around like useless marbles in his mouth.

Theon pressed a finger up to his lips and scouted the bathroom. As he expected, no one was in there. He pushed the boy into the last of the stalls. His body was thrown around so easily, he was easily pliable. “In here, come here.”

The boy nodded.

Theon rubbed his hand against his throat, feeling the supple veins. His skin was so soft, not yet worn in, smooth and warm.

“Don't try to talk anymore. Just shut up and come here.” Drunk boys don't speak, good boys don't struggle. They keep their mouth shut.

His eyes rolled backwards, stumbling a bit.

“Don't you pass out on me, you useless--” Theon caught himself. He had a harsh mouth when he wanted only one thing. But the boy smiled and locked the stall door behind him, falling down to his knees. “You useless plaything,” he cupped his face, grabbed a handful of thick hair, wrapped it across his knuckles and pulled hard. The yelp was worth the entire night, he tilted his head back and bared his teeth. Animalistic and raw, Theon liked to see a boy like this, helpless at his hand. Chuckling, he lightly smacked the boy across his face, letting his fingers linger.

“More?” Theon whispered. The boy nodded. He arched his hand back and smacked him rough. The boy gasped, a glob of drool fell from his mouth. “Greedy.”

Pawing at the boy's pants, Theon reached towards his belt. There was no buckle, and they slid off easily to his hips. He was erect underneath his underwear, sticky and vulnerable. Poor thing was breathing hard, letting strained mutters escape his lips. “Please, please,” he begged.

Theon felt powerful over him, he gripped his hand across his cock and rubbed his palm over its warm, tip. He broke into a grin, no longer fearing that his lopsided incisors would look unattractive. The boy was already his. Leaning in his ear to hear the pained whimpers more, Theon moved his fist slow against the boy's length, pumping and admiring the sight of how much precum there was already. He spat on him, the bridge of drool catching on his chin, hanging helplessly between the two. With a shudder, the boy came, his entire frame shook for a few beats as hot wetness covered Theon's fingers. Lifting his hand to his mouth, Theon licked a finger, twirling his tongue dramatically across his middle finger.

“Give me your mouth.” Theon demanded.

The boy struggled to unzip Theon's pants, his fingers barely worked. A fog of drunkenness embraced the two of them. Theon helped, panting harder with each second that his cock was not between those lips. He pulled down his jeans and gripped the boy behind his ears, rubbing the lobes. Unpierced. _He needed an earring, he needed just one_.

Theon did not know his name.

But he fucked his mouth like he knew his entire life story.

The boy's tongue was magic, just as expected. Small and compact, he moved it in swirls around Theon's engorged cock. A few noises escaped, a few moans, a small giggle that brought Theon dangerously close to cumming just from its vibration. He moved with purpose, as if he had been thinking of it since first meeting eyes with him. Theon longed to be admired, needed to know that he was fuckable. He wished he had a word to gasp, a phrase to call the sexy thing worshiping his cock right now.

“Write my name with your tongue,” Theon begged. “So you don't forget it.”

_So I don't have to wonder yours._

The boy was sloppy, his saliva dripping down his chin, mixing with Theon's precum. Theon closed his eyes, bit his lip. He felt a T, a cross against his head. The sucks and licks were growing slower, the boy's eyed had closed. “Don't you pass out,” Theon coached, unsure if his words could even be heard. His hands begged to flap, but he balled them up in the boy's hair more, pressing down his entire throat across his member. He choked and gagged for a few moments, but then was eerily still.

Theon pulled the boy up from his hair and stared. He had passed out.

His cock pulsating, Theon studied the boy and a sickening thought came over him. He was not finished, he needed to be, he needed that body like he needed a goddamn drink and he already had his fill of liquor. _Drunk actions, sober thoughts, what was that damned phrase?_

It would be easy.

No one was around.

He tugged at the hem of the boy's shirt, pulled it over his head.

It would be so easy.

No one ever came in here.

He threw the shirt to the corner of the stall. Cock still out and hard, covered in the boy's spit, he grabbed the boy like he was drowning.

It would be so easy.

Theon flipped him over and pulled his thin body close to his. The boy moaned a bit, or perhaps it was his imagination. He could not tell. The rag doll body did not betray him, he was as easy to move in unconsciousness as he was in waking.

Spitting into his hand, Theon cursed himself for not bringing any lube. His poor cock was too drunk to care, he had to try. He pressed himself against the boy's entrance and moved a pre-wet finger inside. It would be cruel not to warm him up, Theon thought, then began laughing. _It would be cruel to fuck him too,_ but yet here he was.

He moved another finger in, rocking the boy open a bit more for his cock. There was no need to finger him lovingly, he wondered if he was even feeling pleasure right now. Theon's hands shook from holding him up. Just a few thrusts, just enough to cum in him, that was all he needed. Theon edged his cock in, straining himself from the pressure. He grunted. It was much tighter than he thought. He eased inside his fuck toy.

Bracing himself, Theon thrust his hips back and forward. The boy wanted it, it was going happen eventually. He bit his cheek, closed his eyes. The sight of the passed out, unmoving body did nothing for him erotically. He would much rather him be moving, moaning, squirming under him. Yet, he knew he would cum fast, it would be over soon. He would wake up and remember nothing and no one would be hurt, right?

Theon's breathing hitched. He was nearly there. Running his hands across the boy's body, he began to whisper to it.

“You sick, sick, poor thing. You poor little boy, you wanted it, you needed it, I needed it, I had to, you made me do this,” _Drunk words, sober thoughts, drunk actions, sober crimes, drunk rape--_

Theon opened his eyes when he came.

He met a pair of colorless eyes watching from the gap between the stall doors.

Ramsay watched.

Ramsay had seen it all.

Theon Greyjoy came inside the boy, his face slack with terror. The eyes did not blink. He looked down through the gap. Ramsay's thick cock was out, his hand jerking at his own member. Ramsay came in steady bursts.

_I was so drunk, how did I not see him, I was so drunk._

“Please,” Theon creaked. “Please. Ramsay.” He exited the boy's body and slowly lowered him to the bathroom floor. “God, please, do not tell.”

Ramsay turned and left.

 


	4. Hot Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon wakes up with nothing but his mistakes to confront. How will he reconcile what he has done? And what does Ramsay have to do with it? How ominous.

FOUR: Hot water

Theon woke up in Robb's bed. He stirred, lifting the sheets over his face and taking a smell of his own body. He was rancid. Alcohol, sweat, a mixture of cum and saliva. Lifting his groggy head, Theon took a scan of the room. He was in Robb's apartment, that much was clear. A few boxes were still unpacked around him, but it was mostly tidy and minimalistic. There wasn't even anything on the walls yet, just weary white paint.

Robb appeared in the doorway, shaking his head.

“Okay, it's past noon and I need some answers,” He was smiling, but something in Theon wanted to wretch. Answers, answers, he had no answers. None he could tell his best friend.

“You took me to your place?”

“You ran up to me, sobbing, screaming, that I not take you to your place. We left Ramsay there, I don't know how he got home, and he's probably going to have your head. What did he do to you?”

Theon rubbed his temples. Usually, he escaped drunk nights scot-free, but a hangover smothered him. _What did he do to me,_ _or what did I do?_

“Nothing really. He just, uh, he followed me around for a bit.”

Robb clucked his tongue, that insufferable habit that let Theon know he didn't believe whatever bullshit he was spouting. He cringed. No way could Robb know. There was fucking up, and then there was— _this_.

“If all he did was follow you around, you wouldn't have been as frantic to leave there as you were. Theon. I was scared. You ran to me, pounded my chest and screamed at me. You shook in the car ride home, you looked like an abused dog. What did this asshole do to you?” Robb ran a hand through his auburn hair, exasperated. “Did he...you know?”

“Did he what?”

“Did he try and, um. Did he? Theon, don’t make me say this.”

He felt sick. A vision of a boy's hips in his hands flashed in his mind. The boy, the boy, with his slack jaw, mouth half open, drool oozing out of the corner, eyes fluttering. _He was passed out, I was drunk. But I wasn't drunk enough to stop. I wasn't sober enough to stop. I wasn't--_

“Theon fucking Greyjoy. You are worrying me.”

He tried to rise. _Oh, his head._ He was still in last night's clothes, his bandana loosely tied around his neck. Shuddering, he vowed to change out of them as soon as possible. _Maybe even burn these pants, or at least my boxers_.“Don't. Don't worry, it was nothing. I was just paranoid because he was following me. Nothing happened. I freaked out, it happens. Drunk talk.”

Robb barred the exit from his bedroom with his arms, and Theon tried not to notice how much larger Robb was compared to him. He wasn't too muscular, just toned from playing soccer in high school. How tall was he—six foot two? He had a few inches on Theon, who always felt like a gangly squiggle compared to him. Licking his teeth, Theon tried to push on through.

“You're hungover, just stay a while.”

“I wanna get out of these clothes. I feel,” he paused. _Like an asshole? Like a fuck-up?_ _A_ _rapist?_ “I feel gross. Please.”

His memory was hazy at best, but he did remember one thing clearly: the hungry look on Ramsay's face as he watched. How long had he been watching, did he know what he was seeing?

Ramsay came, that fucker, wiped his hand off on his own shirt, zipped up and walked away as if he was merely watching something vaguely interesting. He didn't say a word, did not flinch. Theon tore off his bandana and stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans. His body was sore, after drinking, he tended to bruise up mysteriously, it was as if his skin constantly wanted to be muddled and marred.

“You do stink a little.”

“Thanks, yeah. I'm gonna go home. Can you drive me?”

“It's like a fifteen minute walk to campus.”

Theon glanced up sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry. Come on,” Robb grabbed his car keys and gently rubbed Theon's shoulder.

“I'm fine.” _He just stared, he just stared at me._

“Let me know if Ramsay does anything.”

“No, it'll be fine.” _Like a predator, he stared like a predator._

“You can change your roommate if you complain enough I think.”

“I'm fine. I said I'm fine.” _I am the prey, I am the prey._

The September air was chilly and smelled like dying leaves. Theon strode to Robb's car, breathing deep, forcing air past his nose into his lungs.

“Robb? You didn't hear from anyone who want to Tequila Joe's last night, did you?” He opened up the car door and fell onto the plush lining. God bless Robb, his Monte Carlo was showy and the red velvet was tacky, but it was soft. For as long as he could recall, Theon had a thing for textures. In any shopping mall, he's let his hands run across coats and sweaters, feeling for something that made his palms tingle.

Robb shook his head and started the car. “No, no one. It was pretty uneventful, honestly. A lot of people went home fairly early.”

Theon let his head hit the side of the window, his teeth rattling, watching the trees as they drove back towards campus.

* * *

Ramsay wasn't in when Robb dropped him off. It seemed that he didn't want to be in the apartment just as much as Theon wanted to be alone. The shower billowed steam clouds around Theon's body—he scrubbed himself for a whole hour, eyes shut tight. Maybe if the water was hot enough, it would cleanse him, maybe if he burned himself it would all go away.

Theon wrapped a towel around his hips and strode out into the hall. _Another reason to hate having a roommate,_ Theon mused to himself, _you can never just walk around in the nude._

“Jesus Christ, finally.” The voice squeezed Theon's chest. “You were in there forever. I need some hot water too once in a while.” Ramsay stood at the end of the hallway, his hair tied back in a loose ponytail, his black button up shirt loose and untucked.

Theon's lips turned white.

“I needed a shower,” was all he could say.

“Yes, I'm sure that bar bathroom was filthy as it looked.” He laughed.

“We don't talk about that.”

“No?”

“No.” Theon hiked the towel a bit up his hips, gripping the terrycloth. He was suddenly all too aware of how naked he was. Instinctively, Theon ran a hand over one of his shitty homegrown tattoos—a rising wave—on his left hipbone. It only made Ramsay stare at it harder, squinting his eyes a bit to make it out. “No, we don't.” He headed towards his room, but Ramsay placed a thick, meaty hand upon his waist. It was so cold, the skin as icy as his eyes. The fingers were calloused and rough, sharp against Theon's jutting skinny hip.

Reaching into his pocket, Ramsay pulled out of his cell phone. Without even looking down at his screen, he punched in the lock code—all muscle memory. Theon swallowed. _I know, I know, I know what's on that phone, I already know, I already know, I am the prey._

“We don't talk about this?” The light was bright and hurt Theon's eyes as Ramsay shoved his phone screen under his nose. It wasn't the best picture, as it was taken from a slight distance through the stall but it was clear that was Theon himself in the picture. And even worse, it was clear that the boy he was thrusting his cock into was knocked out as clear as day. Theon forced himself to scoff.

“He doesn't look passed out in that,” he lied.

“So you admit he was?” Ramsay smirked.

Theon shook his head. _Shit_.

“Are you confident enough in that to let me send this to the Dean in an anonymous email? Perhaps the school would want to know that their student Theon Greyjoy is a rapist.” Ramsay zoomed in the picture. It was grainy, the lighting was dim. The boy's head was downward, his body a curved apostrophe, hanging. Was it enough?

“When did you take that?” _I would have seen, I would have. If I was sober._

“How many shots did you take? God, I can't believe how long it took you to notice I was there. For a moment I thought you were putting on a show just for me.”

“I...how did you know I took shots?” Theon stepped back. “How long were you following me around there for?” It was not cold in the apartment, but goosebumps cascaded down his arms.

Ramsay moved closer to Theon and touched his waist again. Still so cold. One hand, then the other. He moved in close and placed his mouth around Theon's, his tongue just grazing Theon's bottom lip. As soon as he kissed him, he moved his face away. It was too fast for Theon to react.

“I could devour you. Was Satin better than me?”

_Was that the boy's name?_

“I don’t know him. No.” _Why protest, why even defend myself?_

“I didn't like seeing him talk to you. He was desperate, it was pathetic.” Ramsay pushed a strand of Theon's hair behind his ear. Theon shook, the strand fell back into his face. “I got jealous.”

“Jealous?” Theon screamed. “What the fuck, jealous of what? You're my roommate, I've barely said a goddamn word to you and you hurt my friend. You're a fucking psycho, and I'm going down to the Dean _first_ to get my fucking apartment changed. Shit.” He tried to hike back into his room, but Ramsay's grip on his waist was tight.

Ramsay slipped a finger down past the terrycloth towel, rubbing the blue strands with his thumb. The pressure of skin against skin caught Theon's breath like a net.

“This is sweet on you, I like the tattoo.”

“That's nice, I don't care. Let me go.” Theon tried not to meet his eyes. _Why does my face hurt, why do I feel red all over?_

“It would be so easy to email this, you know. Why don't I?”

“Because it's not definitive, innocent until proven guilty and all that.” Theon stared at his bare feet, afraid to look up.

“That's an awful lot of trust in the judicial system. Schools don't like their name to be associated with bad press though. A rape case would cause a big stir. Universities are just big businesses, education is secondary to making money. Best to just kick you out. What school would take you in after that?”

The goosebumps extended to his thighs.

“I'm a senior, it'd be a lot of effort to do that.” He was lying and he knew it. Making excuses, trying to find loopholes.

“Fine, then take your chances. What a waste of time and money, I'm sure your parents will like to hear this one.” With a huff, Ramsay let his hand fall from Theon's waist, turned and walked away. Bile rose in Theon's chest.

He held out his hand.

“Wait, okay. No, please. Don't show anyone. Please.” A crack threatened his voice, and he hated himself for it. Always so weak willed when afraid, knocking legs and tight throat.

Ramsay stopped, turned his head.

“And?”

“And?”

“And what do I get out of it, then?”

_I was always the prey._

Every inch of Theon's brain was shouting. He held the towel so tight, fingernails digging into his sweaty palms. They met each others gaze.

“You get,” he sighed, “you get me.”

Ramsay pointed from Theon's shaking frame towards his own bedroom door. It wasn't a suggestion, not a beckoning. It was a command.

Theon walked forward, the gallows awaiting. 


	5. Saliva Coated Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon heads to his first confrontation with Ramsay. What oh what does Ramsay have in store for his blackmail?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm really happy to see this thing getting comments and views and I just want to thank you all! I usually would just respond to each individual comment but here is one big THANK YOU for everyone! I'm having a lot of fun writing this nonsense and I hope you are all liking it. It started as a silly inside joke between my girlfriend and I and I have no idea how it got to 13k words, but here we are. Enjoy this chapter my dears. <3

FIVE: Saliva Coated Sheets

Theon Greyjoy stood, the last bits of shower water dripping off his legs, in Ramsay's room, hugging his towel against his body. _This will be over fast, then it's_ _done_ _. Then maybe I find Satin, see what he remembers if anything_ _from the bar_ _. I can do this, I can clear this._

His room was nearly bare, as expected with the few amount of belongs he carried in with him on moving day. Theon did a quick scan. A laptop, a utilitarian lamp, plain gray bedsheets, no posters, some notebooks, clothes on the floor, and the wolf bone necklace laid on the nightstand. A hand clamped on Theon's bare shoulder. Flinching, he glanced up.

Ox-like, Theon had once described Ramsay, and he marveled at how appropriate it was. Headstrong, thick, muscular yet slightly chubby. _He could break me with just one arm,_ Theon feared moving any further into the room. Ramsay's broad nose flared when he smiled.

“What changes your mind so suddenly? You look repulsed every time I see you,” Ramsay breathed hot on Theon's neck, moving into his body. Either from cold or apprehension, Theon's teeth chattered. He bit his lip, trying to calm them, feeling a bit of yesterday's stubble graze his skin.

“If I do this, do you promise not to show anyone that picture?” He spoke slowly, trying to hide his nervousness. Theon had been with men, that wasn't the issue. He had tussled with a six foot seven football player and been with men wider than Ramsay. But none of them _frightened_ him. _None of them had life ruining blackmail on my biggest regret, either._ “I'm not doing this because I want you, I'm doing this to save my own ass.”

Ramsay held a finger up to Theon's lip, catching it between them. He rubbed Theon's smooth teeth, his finger slick.

“Careful,” he hummed. “Watch your mouth, don't get catty with me. You should be thankful I'm giving you this opportunity. I'm being generous.”

Catching himself, Theon closed his eyes so he would not roll them. “Generous? You're essentially blackmailing me. This is illegal.”

“So is fucking someone when they're passed out. God, Theon, is your dick just that insatiable? Or are you so desperate that you can't have awake partners? That swagger is all show, isn't it?” Ramsay pressed his finger into Theon's cheek, feeling around his molars and incisors. “You have sharp teeth, you know. Little fangs. You know the German phrase, Steiler Zahn?” Theon shook his head, he had only taken Spanish to fulfill credits, and cheated his way to an easy B. “It's an old saying, translates to steep tooth. But in the 70's it was used for hot women. Steiler Zahn.” The words sounded like ale on his lips, singsong and flighty. “You're no woman, Theon. But I can take you like one.”

The urge to bite his fingers was strong, but Theon restrained himself. How long could it take, a half hour tops? One half hour and he could grit his teeth and pretend he was somewhere else, with anyone else. He was already flipping through a catalog of celebrities to think of instead, when Ramsay bit his neck. Theon's hands clamped up, flailed, he lost grip of his towel. It fell with a final shudder on Ramsay's floor.

_I could pretend._

Ramsay's teeth scraped against Theon's neck. He murmured softly, his breath growing more rapid.

_Does that make me a bad person?_

Ramsay sucked the skin behind Theon's ear—he closed his eyes and tried to mentally switch the scene.

_He would never know. He doesn't have to know._

“You're distracted.”

_You aren't Robb. I can't pretend you're Robb. I can't._

“Sorry,” Theon responded, and truly he was. For all the reasons Ramsay could not begin to guess. He forced a grin and raised his eyebrows.

Ramsay's size wasn't for show—he grabbed Theon by the hips and swung him onto the bed. It all happened so fast, he gasped in surprise and braced himself to land on the blankets. Lifting up his own hand to bite, Theon pressed his thumb to the roof of his mouth. His mouth always needed to be on something, he was always chewing, biting, pressing his teeth to his skin to put himself as ease.

“I need a shot,” he gasped out, shaking his head. “I can't, I can't do this, I need something.”

“You can't do this?” Ramsay suddenly lifted his heavy body off of Theon. The empty space between them reminded Theon that he was entirely nude. He felt his cock stir, despite himself, and hoped Ramsay did not notice the slight change in his size. Breathing a momentary sigh of relief, Theon pushed himself up on his elbows. _Maybe the bastard finally got sense,_ he thought, not yet fully allowing himself to breathe.

“Yeah man, I just. You know. I can't. Can't we form a pact? I don't have a lot of money. I work a shitty office job in the Psych department copying textbooks illegally for cheap ass professors. But I can throw half a paycheck your way. That's gotta be worth something to you, right?” The dim lighting cast shadows over Ramsay's face. The placement of Ramsay's room in the center of the hallway didn't allow for windows and it was too dark to see if he was smiling or scowling. People always told Theon he was good at talking people into doing what they didn't want to do—if only those skills could come in use when he most needed them.

“What do I have need for that?”

Theon backed his hips up and leaned on the bed's backboard, covering his chest with his arms, folded himself into a pretzel. _I can't, I can't._ “A whole paycheck then. That's two weeks of drudgery, and I'm gonna have to eat noodles and cut back on drinking to afford that. No new clothes even. No ordering out for food, okay, that's a huge sacrifice. You've tasted our cafeteria, it's impossible to go a week without ordering Chinese food to compensate, right?”

“Do you know who my dad is, Theon?”

He didn't. Ramsay never spoke to him beyond grunts. Theon shook his head, his heart quickening pace to steady hoofbeats.

“Roose Bolton.”

The name did nothing for him. Theon shrugged.

“I'm sorry, I don't quite know who that is.”

“You're a senior here, how the fuck can't you—” Ramsay dragged his hand through his hair, exasperated. “Okay, I'm learning you're not the brightest kid there is. I'll be gentle with you. Where do we go to school, little Theon?”

He hesitated. A trick question? “Um. Uh, it's Winterfell University.”

“Good, you're so smart!” Ramsay mock clapped. “Now, it takes a lot of people to run a school! You have professors, and janitors, and Deans and oh, yes, even Presidents. And the people at the top make a lot of money and have a lot of power, right little Theon?”

Nodding, Theon dreaded the next few words.

“Roose Bolton is the President of this school. I don't know how you've gone this long without seeing his name on your mail or all around the school, gods you are slow. Now put two and two together for me.”

“Your dad is the President of this school,” Theon trembled.

“Looks like it.”

“You don't need money.” _The Devil himself has me now._

“Probably not. I doubt your measly paycheck would make my cock hard. Keep going. Keep talking. You're very cute when you're vulnerable like this. Uncross those arms, let me see you.”

Slowly, Theon moved his arms to his sides. His scrawny body felt so frail upon the mattress, like it could crumble and blow away.

“Your dad has a lot of power. Your dad probably knows the Dean.”

“Probably?”

“You could do anything, you could get me kicked out. You really could,” admitting it himself solidified the fear. Even if Satin doesn't remember, even if he says it didn't happen, even if every other piece fell into place, Ramsay had him. “How do I know you're not lying though?”

“You're asking a dangerous question for someone whose life I could easily destroy. And, someone whose body is laying naked at half mast in my bed. If you doubt my parentage again, I'll strike you.” The threat startled Theon, he flinched.

“What the ever loving fuck, man? You're threatening to hurt me now?” _Careful, careful, careful._

Ramsay placed his palm on Theon's cheek and rubbed it gently. The moment of tenderness shocked him, he let air out of his lungs and stared wide eyed at the hand. It didn't feel quite as wrong as he thought, almost even...nice.

“Of course not my pet, so long as you are good.”

“Pet? Oh, come on, this is going to far.”

“My pet is talking too much. He'd be wise to shut up.”

The room spun around Theon. He was still hungover, everything inside of him threatened to come out. His mouth was still dry from last's night inebriation. _Two nights in a row, I can't make this many mistakes two nights in a row._

“I just, I need—get it over with fast.”

It didn't hurt when Ramsay slapped Theon across the cheek. It only stung, mildly. But the sound echoed in the tiny tin can room and tossed back Theon's head, his neck shining like a scythe. His cantering heart soared to a steady gallop.

“I will take my time.” Ramsay crooned, moving his hand from Theon's face down to his shoulder blades, feeling the bones under the skin. He rubbed hard against his shoulder bones, eyes focused. “I like your bones, I'd like to pull them out and see them against your skin.”

“You hit me.” A statement, not a defiant outburst. “You hit me, you hit me.”

Ramsay cracked his hand again, this time his knuckle grazed Theon's snaggletooth. The skin split and he groaned, shaking his hand and biting his inner cheek.

“That smarts, look it's bleeding.” Ramsay stuck his hand in front of Theon's face—who was now breathing in heavy, terrified gasps. “Who did this?”

“You did it, you hit me! You fucking crazy piece of shit!” Theon tried to rise up, tried to run. He would sooner face Roose and the mercy of the school.

Ramsay pushed him down. His position and his size gave him the advantage, a massive bull cornering the lithe fighter.

“You did this. You bit me.”

“You hit my teeth,” Theon defended himself. “I didn't, I wouldn't, I promise!” The whine in his voice was too apparent, too desperate.

“Roll over.”

All the churning inside Theon sped tenfold. _I can't do this, who can I imagine, he's not Robb, he's not that boy, he's not, he's not._ Yet, Theon did as he was told, his body moving in timid little lurches. _How long could it be, how bad could it be, I need to, I need to._ He thought of essays, of long nights studying in the library, all those arduous tasks that make up college. What difference was letting Ramsay fuck him and a dissertation? It was something to grit and bear for the larger picture. A sacrifice.

He heard Ramsay's belt buckle clinking. Always smiling at the wrong times, Theon hated himself for grinning. The sounds were just too cliché. How many times had he heard a zipper in a porno? How many times had he braced himself for those noises of fabric and metal? Pulling down his lips, Theon hid his smile—his grimace. Ramsay leaned over Theon and opened up the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube. He momentarily loosened his muscles with relief. At the very least the psycho was considering the ease of the job ahead of him. Not daring to look over his shoulder, Theon listened for the cap, the squeeze, the slight watery sounds of lube dripping out and being rubbed over a shaft.

Ramsay pressed a cold wet finger to Theon's entrance. His hips buckled a bit, startled by the sensation. _It isn't terrible, you know how this works, it might even be okay. It might even be nice if you let it._

“I will hit you if I want to,” Ramsay said, his cock posed against Theon's ass. “Isn't that right, my pet?”

The seriousness of the statement hit Theon before the head of Ramsay's cock. A pet was more than one night. A pet was something you kept and fucked, a pet was something you owned. _The prey for the predator._

“Y-yes, of course,” he trembled back. Ramsay was thick. He could only feel the tip, but it was already a burning ache inside of him.

His hands grabbed Theon's hips with the roughness of a butcher. Ramsay thrust in, lifted his head back and let out an ungodly moan. Theon's cock rose, he shut his eyes and pretended. _Robb would be a moaner, not a screamer. Robb would be guttural and bold like this, wouldn't he? Robb would have some animal inside of him, some sadist that awakened in the moment._

“Say my name pet,” Ramsay growled, thrusting faster.

It burned, it burned, it burned. Theon could barely remember any names, other than the one he was forcing himself to focus on. He pulled himself out of fantasy for a moment, gripping the sheets underneath him.

“...Ramsay,” he tried to put a lilt in his voice to fake some pleasure.

“And?”

“Ramsay _Bolton_ ,” the second set of syllables fell out the same time Ramsay's cock pressed deeper inside of him, moving his body up against the headboard. _That wasn't the name I saw on the boxes, was it? Wasn't it something else, wasn't it?_ Trying to turn off his mind, Theon focused on an uneven knot of wood on the headboard, gazing and finding shapes in the spiral.

He answered back with another growl.

_I am being fucked by a beast,_ Theon felt himself splitting in half.

The pressure pained him, he opened his mouth and bit the bed, grinding tasteless fabric in between his molars. Knowing he would ache come morning, Theon moaned. It was barely pleasurable, even while imagining another, more lean and trim body fucking him. He only felt full, poured slightly close to a drink's brim, threatening to spill. Ramsay's thrusts were hard to predict, they were soft and short, long and hard, they had no rhythm. Theon found himself drooling just from the anticipation of each movement, he mind was too wrecked to close his mouth and the saliva poured out onto a circle of wetness. _Where is the boy from the bar today, did he wake up there, did they find him after it closed, does he even remember?_ Theon tried to remember, how he ran out of the stall, zipping up his pants, screaming for Robb. He hadn't even dressed the boy, and he was nearly positive that he left the stall door swinging open for anyone to find him, covered him cum and shame. Tears edged in on the corner of his eyes. _I deserve this, I deserve to die, don't I? I deserve whatever I get._

“Oh gods,” Ramsay breathed out between gritted teeth. He grabbed Theon by the hair, pulling it in rough handfuls. A scream emitted Theon's throat the moment that Ramsay came. It slicked hot and wet into him. _I deserve to be debased,_ he reminded himself, _I deserve to be prey._

Ramsay pulled out, his breathing labored by the exertion. Unmoving, Theon let go of his grip on the gray sheets, stretching his hands out. It was over, it was over. For now or forever, he had yet to figure out, but the relief of not being filled to the brim was enough for now. In his moment of relaxation, Theon heard the dresser drawer open once again. He rolled over, squinting his eyes to see what Ramsay was retrieving. Surely, that was all, wasn't it? Unsure if his body could take another round, Theon cocked his head and leaned forward. The glint of metal shot a bullet into him.

Ramsay had pulled out a small pocket knife. Theon scrambled, pulling his body in to itself, hugging his knees. Globs of Ramsay's cum fell out from him, the sensation was sickening.

“No, no, please don't hurt me!” He grabbed the sheet beneath him and pulled it up over his naked body. Every inch of his skin cringed. _Robb, Robb, Robb, save me, save me! Someone, anyone! Jeyne, Robb, Dad, anyone!_ “I gave you my body, I did. I let you fuck me! I did it!”

Ramsay kneeled over Theon, his eyes shining with amusement. They were the color of ice, regret, the lips of a corpse.

“I didn't like you questioning my parentage. You didn't sound quite so certain when you called me Bolton. You have a smart mouth, Theon. It will cost you.” He spoke differently now, his voice softer and slower, savoring each word.

“No, stop! You can't do this, you can't just fucking do this!” He wasn't so sure if that was true.

“My pet needs to learn. You can teach a dog to listen to your commands, but sometimes the worst mutts still will act up. Sometimes, you have to hit them, make them bleed a little.” He flipped out the blade in one movement of his wrist. Theon tried to calculate its length. Not too large, about three inches. But the blade was angry and sharp.

Theon didn't realize he was fully crying until he heard his own sob shudder out. He gripped his feet, pulling in on his toes. Another nervous habit of his (gods, how many were there?), Theon always touched his feet when he was barefoot and afraid. He would pick at his nails, rub his toes, heels and ankles until he felt whole.

Ramsay noticed.

“Those are very nice feet,” He moved closer to them, placing a small kiss on Theon's left foot, letting his tongue linger for longer than necessary. “Extend your leg.”

Ramsay pulled Theon's leg before he could let him move it, his hands arcing over another stick and poke of a kraken. “Oh, that's a nice one, how did I notice this?” Ramsay licked the arms, one at the time. He held Theon's foot in one hand, the knife in the other, and dragged it across the skin. It tickled. Theon had to stifle a slight giggle—one from fear, sensation, and god knows what else. A monster in him belched, he wanted it to be over, but he was curious. Sickeningly, horrifying curious.

“Does this feel nice, pet?”

It didn't feel _terrible_. The blade was only cold, it made no nicks or marks on his foot. Theon let his body relax. _Okay_ , he thought, _so Ramsay has creepy sick foot fetish and a thing for knives. Livable, doable, you can get through this and pretend it didn't happen come morning._

The blade moved like ice skaters in lines and figure eights over his skin, across the top of his foot down to the toes. Theon shuddered a bit, not out of menace. The tickle ran across his body in sprints and starts.

“Calming, hm?” Ramsay's voice was too gentle.

Theon nodded, letting his body betray him. It did calm him, he hated to admit. He stared at the plain white ceiling. Another task, not too bad, he would make it out--

\--Ramsay stuck the tip of the blade under Theon's big toenail.

“Still calming?”

He worked the blade under, ignoring Theon's desperate screams.

Theon saw white, red, black, under his eyelids. The pain was nothing he had ever felt before. Ramsay popped the blade up like a bottle opener, cutting away at the toenail. Screaming like a whipped dog, Theon whimpered, grabbing his own hair. The nauseous monster let bile spill out. Hungover and in the worst pain of his life, he vomited last night's regrets onto his chest in awful gagging heaves. Ramsay tossed the loosened nail onto his chest, it was a barely recognizable pile of keratin and already coagulating blood.

“You're going to bleed a lot. Get yourself to the bathroom. You might want to just lay in the shower for a while.” Ramsay closed the blade and lifted Theon's foot towards his mouth. He took a lick, then a suck, gobbling up all the spilled blood. “Now I've had my share. Clean up, pet.”

“You. You fucking. You fucking psycho,” Theon could not move, he hissed through closed teeth. He could not walk on his foot, obviously, now one toenail short.

“Clean up!” Ramsay shouted, throwing the knife down on Theon's stomach. The metal struck him, one last final damning.

Crying, his foot bleeding and already turning colors, Theon lifted his aching body covered in blood, tears, vomit and cum and trudged to the bathroom for his second shower of the day.

 


	6. Bathwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon tries to see if he can get his roommate changed and begins skipping class. Ramsay has a proposition and a new idea as to how to mark Theon as his. Just how loyal is this new pet of his?

SIX: Bathwater

“Sir, calm down, please take a seat.” The receptionist didn't look up Theon, his pacing growing erratic and violent. He knocked over a stack of papers with his forearm and howled.

“I'm telling you I need a new roommate, and there's nothing you can do? I'm not fucking kidding around here.” He started flapping his hands, squeezing dry fists in and out. As a kid, he had outbursts like this. It had been at least a decade since blind rage was a literal descriptor of his state of mind.

The center for student affairs was a dull office that he never had to visit before, but it echoed. For the past ten minutes Theon had been screaming his throat out at the receptionist, the student workers, anyone who walked by trying to shush him. Dizziness plagued him, he pressed his palms to his eye sockets and rubbed.

“I can't tell you why, but I need out.” He ignored the receptionist's glares as she tried to pick up the papers, her busy hands clicking against her manicure. “I will room with anyone, I don't care if they don't bathe or if they play music every night at top volume. Please.”

She gave him a look, half sympathy, half annoyance. “Sir, I just don't have the power to do that. It's months past the date to change roommates, this was assigned when you paid for board last year. With your financial aid, we can't place you anywhere else on campus, that apartment is strictly for students of your--” she hesitated, “You couldn't afford to live elsewhere even if I could, sweetheart.” A peach pit cracked in Theon's chest. So it came to that.

“But. My roommate has money. Why is he there then?”

“I can't give you any student's information, that's all restricted.”

“His name is Ramsay. Ramsay...” Theon cringed, thinking of last night. _He said it was Bolton, he made it clear he would remember._ But Theon's old email clearly said Snow, he had checked this morning to make sure he remembered correctly.

“I can't give out confidential information. If there really is a conflict of interests, you can take the issue to the higher ups. But you'll need to appeal before the Dean and the school President.” She kept staring at the clock. Was it nearly five o'clock already? Theon had skipped all his classes (including his American lit class which was meeting for the first time that morning) and didn't show up for his student job. He spent it all in his room, staring at the lock on his door with pried open eyes. All over, his body ached. Four Advil capsules later and he still wanted to curl up and cut off his own foot.

“Both of them?” She nodded. “President Bolton?” Her nodding quickened. “President Roose Bolton?”

“Yes, he is currently the President of this University. I'm sorry sir, I have to clock out now. But I hope you get this sorted, you sound stressed. But, please, don't come back here, there's nothing I can do.” She looked down at her desk, the silence between them pitiful.

Theon walked outside the student center and wandered across campus, full of questions. Appealing before Ramsay's own father was out of the question. He could never look that man in the eyes and tell him his own son was a rapist. _And aren't I as well, aren't I just as terrible? At least I wasn't drunk, at least I could have fought back if need be._

_I'm worse than Ramsay Bolton_ , Theon barked out a hollow laugh and sent a few freshman scurrying away. _I'm worse than Ramsay fucking Bolton and I deserve all the pain I get._ He trudged back to his dorm, checking his phone to finally look at his unread messages from Robb.

 

ROBB 11:06 AM: Yo remember how I said my cousin Jon was transferring to Winterfell this year? He's apparently in your Lit class. Said your name was on the roster but you weren’t there.

ROBB 11:08 AM: Normally I wouldn't care.

ROBB 11:10 AM: But after the other night I'm concerned.

ROBB 12:13 PM: Jon is such a fucking goody though he was like Why would Theon not show up to class do you think he's hungover.

ROBB 12:50 PM: C'mon Theon answer me.

ROBB 2:05 PM: Did Ramsay do something?

ROBB 3:33 PM: Don't make me send you fucking memes to make you laugh.

ROBB 3:35 PM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ

ROBB: 4:20 PM: Okay I sent you a Rickroll and you didn't get mad, something is up.

Theon shut off his phone. He didn't know where to even start.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Theon woke up to the pounding on his bedroom door. He eyed the lock. Horizontal, in place. Covering his head with his blankets, he groaned.

“Open up!” Ramsay sure sounded cheerful. “Come on Theon, I know you're home. You left a bowl of cereal out here and it's gone sour. Open up!” His voice was singsong and hearty.

Do I even have a choice anymore?

He rose out of bed and unlocked the door. Maybe the worst was over, maybe Ramsay just waned to level with him. Or apologize.

“You smell like alcohol,” Theon noted, the whiff from Ramsay's shirt was enough to light a furnace. Whiskey, he figured. Something bottom of the line and meant for fucking yourself up. “Really, really badly.”

“What are you, my mom?” The insult was so basic that Theon snickered, hating himself the moment of lightheartedness. Ramsay was holding a box—he pushed Theon out of the way and threw it on his bed. “Speaking of, I accidentally packed the wrong box up with me when I moved here. Instead of my clothes, it's baking supplies. No one in my house bakes, Theon. This shit is ancient.”

Theon raised an eyebrow and flicked on his bedside lamp.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Just listen, I'm getting there. It's all really old stuff. The bowls are that gross mustard yellow that was really big in the 70's and the whisks are rusty. My father isn't much of a chef, he mostly orders out and cooks the occasional rare steak. I don't think I've seen the man bake so much as a Christmas cookie in his life, but here we are. He must have taken it down from the attic to throw out or whatever. But there's something interesting in here that I thought you'd like to see. Well, two interesting things.” Ramsay tore back more of the yellowing packaging tape and flung it aside, his fingers sticky.

Every alarm rang.

He pulled out a small blowtorch, roughly the size of his palm. Immediately, Theon backed up and fell onto his bed.

“No, no, no, you're not burning me. Get that away, get away!” He hugged a pillow to his knees, as if the inch thick barrier of feathers and dirty cotton could protect him from flame.

Ramsay flicked the torch's button a few times, letting a small flame spit up for a few seconds. “Gives a slow start, I had to refill it with butane and clean it up a bit. I didn't know what the hell this was, but the internet says it's for crème brulee or some French shit. Theon, have you ever made something like that?”

“N-no, I haven't. I can't really cook. My sister and I pretty much grew up on frozen meals.” He was transfixed. Ramsay owned him, that much was clear. He didn't care the answer to his questions, but he had to answer them regardless.

“That's really sad.” He spun the torch in his hand with a bit of flair. “So it's a bachelor's life for you then, heating up frozen dinners in the microwave and leaving out your breakfast all day. Put the pillow down, I'm not going to light your hair on fire or anything. God, do you think I want to be on the news for burning this godforsaken campus down?”

Despite himself, Theon's body relaxed.

“What's your favorite shape?”

“I'm sorry?”

“What's your favorite shape, I said.” Ramsay's face betrayed no emotion. He dug through the box, moving measuring cups and teaspoons around in a clamor of metal against ceramic. “I've got a heart, a star, just some plain circles. A gingerbread man, what looks like a cat or a dog maybe.” Holding up a metal cookie cutter, Ramsay twirled it across his hand. “Pick one.”

For a moment Theon considered that Ramsay was here to make amends, to bake him cookies or some sort of dessert and call this whole blackmail thing over. To shake hands, kiss cheeks and move on to their next year of school together. For one entirely ridiculous moment Theon still had hope that the question was innocent.

“Oh look!” Ramsay cackled in delight, lifting out a metal cookie cutter in the shape of an X. “What do you think this is for? X marks the spot? I like it. You took too long to respond, so I'm going with this. Nice and recognizable. Like a sigil. Like a proper brand.”

The last word hung like a half drawn apostrophe.

“A brand?” Theon grabbed the pillow again. “Like a logo or--?” _God help me, God help him, God oh God what have I done, I have sinned._

“Like something you burn into the hide of a dumb cow, Theon Greyjoy.” Closing the box, he tossed it near the wall and kicked close the door with his boot. “You didn't get to pick though, sorry about that, I got impatient. But would a heart really be the best choice? Or do you love me so much that you would have picked that one?”

Theon's head began wobbling as if he was already six shots deep.

“I don't want you going around with anyone else, Theon,” Ramsay untied his boots. “While you're mine, you're only mine. A cattle ranger just doesn't let his cows go off to any pasture. Hunters don't leave their kill laying in the woods for someone else to claim the antlers. You're mine as long as I say you are, and I have to make that known,” He slid onto the bed, a ratty oven mitt already prepared on his hand.

_I should have went to Robb's, I should have raised more hell in that office._ _I should have never returned home._

“Come now, you're being so quiet. Aren't you excited for this to be official?” Ramsay grabbed the blowtorch. “Now, I've never done anything like this before. I don't think this metal will get red hot, but it should hold onto quite a bit of heat. Enough to leave a mark for a few weeks. You're probably going to have to keep it clean. Have you ever burnt yourself Theon? It's so much worse than the pain of cutting or a broken bone. Burns blister and boil over. It's an angry pain.” He clicked the button, the flame was orange and lusty. “Lift up your shirt. Lay down. Let me see those hips.”

Theon rubbed the tattoo on his right hip, lifting his shirt up and pointed at the left.

“You're about to get branded and all you can think of it is fucking up that bad stick and poke?” Ramsay chuckled. “I'd never. I like your stupid tattoo too much.”

He almost said thank you. He very nearly thanked Ramsay Bolton for the kindness of mutilation but not quite desecration.

“Take it off all the way and I'll be gentler,” Ramsay sneered. The illusion of choice, as if Theon were doing this out of pleasure, tickled him. “Let me see your whole chest. Do you need me to offer you a dollar or two? I won't go higher than five.”

It was difficult to remove his T-shirt with his shaking hands. Theon tossed it aside and immediately felt colder. Naked. Too out in the open. _Satin was totally naked though, you left him there without dignity, you deserve this, you deserve this._

“Is that good?” Theon croaked. The question was a guise, if it wasn't good, surely Ramsay would keep going until he was satisfied.

Ramsay nodded, the flame heating up the metal cookie cutter. “God bless America,” he joked. “You won't even take money? Are you trying to be better than a common whore? Left hip it is though.” Theon grunted, his hands grasping at the bedsheets. “Bite down on that pillow, you're going to be needing it.” He clicked off the torch and held Theon down with a meaty grip. In one fluid motion, he pressed the cookie cutter to Theon's pale skin.

The pain was unlike anything. Unlike falling on his chin as a six year old after the monkey-bars in the park broke. Unlike when his sister Asha spilled a fresh cup of tea all over his lap. Unlike watching Robb kiss Jeyne. Unlike Ramsay pulling out his toenail. Unlike Ramsay's cock in his ass, unlike the morning after raping the boy at the bar. Unlike anything. He saw colors, galaxies, entire continents of hues and shapes. The metal burned right through his skin, hissing and chewing away bits of him. Over the din of his screaming, Theon could hear Ramsay laughing. His hands were steady, pressing the X into Theon's left hip, right above the bone.

“Fuck! Fuck, oh fuck!” Theon wailed, the words losing meaning and intensity. “Fuck, fuck, stop! Stop! Jesus on high, please stop!” Ramsay let go, pulled the cookie cutter back. The metal was already slowing to a cool. Carefully, Ramsay slid the oven mitt and metal X back into the box, while Theon curled up, legs kicking and face a twisted note. He panted like a deer with an arrow through its neck.

“You make such lovely sounds when you scream,” Ramsay shuddered, his whole body flooded with pleasure. “I like when you scream. “Is it hot? Is it warm?”

“Yes!” The word was a cough more than an actual statement.

“Do you want water over it, my pet? Do you want relief?”

“Anything, god. Fuck!” Theon closed his eyes. “Anything.” It would surely blister and hurt for weeks, turn red and gritty, scab and cake with pus. “Anything, anything.” _Relief, relief, relief._

Ramsay's girth and size was not for show, Theon noted as Ramsay scooped him up in a nearly loving embrace. His hands were wide as tectonic plates across Theon's clammy back, his shoulders a wide carriage for his creature. Theon's eyelids fluttered and he eased his arms around Ramsay's broad neck, letting his head fall into his collarbones. His plain black shirt was soft. Hating himself, Theon rubbed a small bit with his thumb, letting the softness soothe him.

“You made me do that you know,” Ramsay whispered, carting Theon out the door towards the bathroom they shared.

Delirious with pain, Theon nodded.

“I know I did,” his mind flashed to his own drunken words from a few nights back. “I wanted it, you needed it, I needed it, I had to, I made you do this.” They slurred out of his slack mouth, the familiarity bitter.

“That's right, that's right.” Ramsay pushed open the bathroom door with his shoulder and laid Theon down in the tub. He turned the water on, keeping it lukewarm and nearing on chilly. It sloshed around Theon's sweatpants, the cool droplets on his already red burn. “That looks like second degree. That will stay for quite some time, pet.”

Theon rolled off his soggy sweatpants, peeled off his underwater, and Ramsay tossed them into the sink. Burrowing through the medicine cabinet, Ramsay retrieved a small first aid kit that Theon's father forced him to bring to school ever year. Just in case. He popped the plastic box open and removed a cream for burns. With a smile, he tore off the protective seal and uncapped the tube.

“Do you want this?”

“Oh god, please, please,” Theon ached. The water was slowly rising—he shoved the bath stopper into the train and lowered his body further into the tub. He arched his back out of the water for Ramsay to apply the cream. With steady strokes, Ramsay dabbed it across the burnt X. He grit his teeth and inhaled.

“Easy,” Ramsay whispered.

The coolness of hands and cream soothed the fire alarms in Theon's hips. A gentleness, a kindness, a small piece of him was grateful for Ramsay's aftercare. He was so tired, so stressed, so worn to the bone. Lowering himself back into the water, Theon gaped up at his owner.

“That mark means you're mine now, Theon Greyjoy. It can't be undone.” He kneeled besides the tub, tucking strands of hair back behind Theon's ears. “You will do anything for me now. If I want you, you will bend over. If I ask for you mouth upon my cock, you will open wide. If I want you, you will sense it and come on all fours for me to rest my feet upon. My slave, my pet, my creature.”

Theon nodded, not nearly as terrified as he should have been.

“I want to be in every organ of your body. Quicken that heart, damage your liver once more. Fill those lungs,” Ramsay's hand crept up to the top of Theon's head. Before he could move, Ramsay pushed Theon's nose down past the water line.

He sputtered and gagged, the tepid water filled his mouth. Arms thrashing, Theon tried to move himself back up, to taste the sweet air.

“Just a moment, creature. You need a bath, you reek.” Ramsay licked his teeth. “Obey me and I will always reward you.” He lifted Theon's head out of the water. Theon gasped, spitting up mouths of water. The dizziness returned. Everything went black at the edges. He was owned. “Worship me, worship me like sailors worship the sea.” Ramsay's lips curled into a smile, his eyes unblinking and steady.

Theon did not have to question what Ramsay meant, or if he was serious. He did not have time to think of a witty retort, he had enough survival instinct to listen and obey. Ramsay moved his other hand to his pants, unzipped and removed his thick cock. With slow strokes, he jerked himself, not breaking eye contact.

“My...my keeper.” A bit of drool hung out of the corner of his mouth. “My keeper. You are so kind to me. I don't even deserve you.”

“More,” Ramsay gripped Theon's hair tighter, the imminent threat of drowning a heavy weight on his scalp.

“I'll be a good pet, I swear it.”

“More.”

“My Lord. My Lord Ramsay, my Lord Keeper Ramsay Bolton. You own me.”

The whites of Ramsay's eyes fluttered and he pushed Theon's head back down. He sloshed under the waterline again, mouth open and screaming.

Ramsay lifted his newfound pet up, his own back arched into orgasm.

“What a sweet little thing.” He panted, lifting his cum covered hand to Theon's mouth, shoving a few fingers in. Theon sucked it off as he choked out bath water.

_You own me. I am owned._

 


	7. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon is adjusting to his new life a Reek, but Ramsay has a request that not even subservient Reek can oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient for a new chapter! I really have gotten a lot of great comments and I read and treasure every single one.

SEVEN: SWEAT

Theon sniffed the inside of his shirt, his pen hastily finishing up his American Lit essay. He had been missing class, enough for professors to notice and the first month of school was just barely over. A whole month, a whole month of dodging questions and retreating to Ramsay's room every night, Theon wrote so hard that his desk shook. Every day he found new excuses, fake coughs, an arm in a sling, made up aunts who passed away. Every day his professors raised their eyebrows slightly higher at his disheveled appearance, the bruises on his arms (thankfully the chilly autumn allowed for sweaters more and more, but sometimes a warm day would force Theon into short sleeves), the panic in his voice.

Ramsay's new request however, was to wear the same shirt for a while. He stank, he knew he stank, the thing had been on for two solid weeks of running across campus and getting fucked by Ramsay Bolton. His only solace was that the shirt was black, and no sweat stains showed under the arms.

Robb's cousin, Jon, kept staring at Theon from across the room. Theon flipped over his paper to continue his essay on Transcendentalist poetry. He was a cute boy, wild black hair and smooth skin. A little too pretty for Theon, but he saw the way girls straightened their backs when he walked into class. Objectively, he was handsome. Theon tried to keep his eyes on his essay, looping his letters closer and closer together. He hadn't read any of the damn poems he was writing about, just skimmed the Wikipedia page ten minutes before class.

'Walt Whitman's _A Song of Myself_ utilized--' he paused, not even sure what the poem did, what it meant, if anything mattered outside his shitty apartment. Making up some flagrant nonsense, Theon finished up and ran his essay to the professor, and slipped out of class.

Jon followed, his Converse sneakers squealing on the hallway floor as he darted after Theon.

“Theon! Wait, wait,” Jon held an arm out, trying to throw his backpack over his shoulder and his bomber jacket at the same time. “You're Robb's best friend, right?”

_Robb, oh Robb._ He hadn't seen him in weeks, his phone lay at home most days, unread messages piling up from both Robb and Jeyne. Every single one was punctuated with worry and just a pinch of anger. Lots of _'where are you'_ , _'why aren't you answering your phone or your door', 'I'm worried'_ , and each one hurt Theon less and less to read. It all blended together. Theon nodded, already worrying. If he wasn't back to the apartment in time, Ramsay would begin to look for him.

“He's been worried sick about you, says you never answer his calls. What happened, what did he do?” God, but Jon really was as Robb described: way too moral, a peacekeeper who couldn't stay in his own lane. “I know it's none of my business, but I've never seen Robb this upset before. Not even when Arya ran away for a week.”

“He's that upset?” Theon found it hard to believe. _Robb really cared that much?_ His sister Arya went missing for five days, the entire county went looking through sewers and forests for her. Robb didn't eat the entire week and spent every night scanning the neighborhood with a flashlight and his dogs. To think Robb was like that again, bags under his eyes and unwashed hair-- “I'm fine, really, tell him not to worry. I haven't run off, I'm not going anywhere, I'm fine.”

Jon's lip turned up in a sneer. “You took off your sweater a few classes ago and your arms were covered in bruises, Theon. Are you doing it to yourself? There's a counseling service on campus, I'm sure you know that. I can take you there, I see a guy there sometimes, he'll understand.”

“I'm not doing it to myself!” Theon screamed, turning his back on Jon.

“Then who is?”

_He could never understand. Ramsay doesn't do it to hurt me, he does it to teach me._

Theon hurried off, ignoring Jon calling after him, his frustrated shouts and concerned groans. He had to get back home to Ramsay. Lifting up his shirt again, he took a whiff. _Horrible_. And yet, he knew Ramsay would be pleased to inspect it.

* * *

“Your phone's been ringing all day,” Ramsay grabbed Theon by his brittle hair and pulled him into the bedroom, throwing him on the mattress. “Tell Robb he has to stop trying to get in touch with you. You're mine now, and I don't want you to see him.”

Theon had already been stupid enough to ask Ramsay why. He knew the reason. Ramsay had held him close and whispered it once--”Because you are in love with Robb Stark instead of me.” He hadn't even denied it quickly enough, the words were out there and as plain as day old bread.

“I can turn it off. I can block his number,” Theon grunted underneath Ramsay, who was already unbuckling and peeling down Theon's pants. Ramsay never lasted long, there was rarely foreplay. It was a task, just a quick few thrusts and then he was done. It was as common and everyday as washing hands or brushing one's teeth.

“No, that's not enough,” Ramsay grunted, filling Theon. “I want him gone. Tell him not to even try to contact you. No texts,” he thrusted. “No calls.” Again, and again. “No coming here and knocking on the door with Jeyne. I want you dead to him. No. I want Robb to hate you.”

Theon's guts churned.

“Hate me?”

Ramsay came, quick and silently. A task, just a simple everyday task. Like taking out the garbage or checking the expiration date on the orange juice. Like taking a punch to the face or saying 'Yes, m'lord' when asked to bend over.

“Yes, hate you. Make him hate you so he stops trying to contact you. You love the little bastard, but I want him to hate you. How you do this is up to you. Betray him, hurt him, yell at him, hit him, I don't care. Just get it done.” Ramsay pulled up his pants unceremoniously, the wolf bone necklace swaying with each motion. Theon stared at it, transfixed as always. It was the first thing he noticed about Ramsay when they met. At the time, he found it ugly and terrifying. Now it soothed him, the familiarity a quiet constant in his life. “God, you reek. That shirt is getting filthy.”

“Do you want me to change?”

“No, no, keep it on for another week or so. But people in class will surely notice. Don't spray any cologne, I want you to be filthy. I want everyone to avoid you, I want girls to cower and whisper when you walk by. I want men to be glad they are not you. You reeking filthy creature,” Ramsay smiled, his thick lips daring to show teeth. “My Reek.” He touched Theon's face, rubbing the space between jaw and neck. “My Reek only has eyes for me, so no one else should have eyes for him.” He placed a kiss on Theon's sweaty cheek, patting it gently. “That is your new name, answer accordingly to it and only it. If I call you Theon, I want your head to stay still. Don't respond to it, only Reek. You are born today as Reek.”

Theon nodded, suddenly all too aware of his scent.

“Let's have a try won't we?” Ramsay shifted himself next to Theon on the bed, rubbing his shoulders. The ache he had been holding for weeks melted in Ramsay's strong hands. Theon hummed happily, the knots in his upper back unwinding. “That feels good doesn't it?”

“Oh yes, yes it does.” He could barely speak from pleasure. All the stress of senior year, of Tequila Joe's, of being Ramsay's little pet eased out of him with each circle of Ramsay's thumbs. “Please keep going.”

Ramsay placed his lips below Theon's ears, kissing and sucking. Theon's cock hardened, he ground himself against a pillow and smiled. Such moments of intimacy were rare, it was best not to question Ramsay's motives and enjoy them for what they were. _This was how he shows his love,_ Theon remembered, _he keeps me on his toes, he tests me, but it's all to make me better._

“Theon,” the name caught him off guard, and Theon moaned back in reply. He was barely done when a fist grabbed his neck and choked the breath out of him. He gagged and choked, unable to breathe. “You stupid, worthless waste of life. Less than five minutes ago I told you your name. I say 'Theon' and you are supposed to say 'Who? Who is that, I know of only Reek'.” Ramsay let go of his windpipe.

Coughing, Theon steadied himself. “Yes, yes. I understand now. I'm so stupid.”

“Now, again. Hello Theon.” The name was poison, purple barbs on a cactus.

“Who is Theon? I am Reek.” It felt as natural as walking.

Ramsay nodded slowly, leaning over to his drawer.

“Maybe you need something to teach you. I am only a good owner, Reek. I only care about what's best for you, and you have to remember your name.”

The drawer, the drawer, the drawer with the knife in it, Theon remembered. Though he was less scared than he was a month ago. A part of him looked forward to it, a small broken pathetic piece of him that knew he deserved to be hurt for not remembering his place.

Ramsay flicked out the knife. “Remember our old friend?”

“Yes, I do. It was my first punishment,” the nostalgia wasn't a false front. His toenail hadn't grown back since, the skin only hardened and grew purple. Each morning when he put on his socks, he was filled with servitude and longing.

“Lift up your shirt, like a good boy.”

Theon lifted it up to reveal the tender burn Ramsay left last month. The X had healed, but the scar will still as red and raw as ever. It no longer stung when he ran his hand over it, but the scabbing took a while and some nights it bled pus all over his sheets. A proper burn, a proper mark. He was proud of it. Theon's pants were still down around his ankles, it felt good to be bared in front of Ramsay. His body was marked with punishments, reminders, bruises and cuts: love. Carefully, Ramsay ran the cold steel across Theon skin's in between his hipbones, right atop where his pubic hair began.

“I bet this swath right here is very sensitive,” Ramsay remarked, digging the knife in ever so slightly.

“Oh yes, yes,” Theon's breath quickened.

Ramsay pulled the blade down, the first line of an R.

“You will remember every time you piss, every time you take off your pants for me, every time you wake up and wonder what that aching is above your cock,” he began the loop of the R. It bled steadily. He leaned in close and licked it up. “Tart, salty. I like it.”

Theon stopped watching and just gazed at the ceiling, trying to guess which letter the blade was on now. The E, its twin, the K. Each hurt slightly more than the last, each line felt deeper and darker, as Ramsay lost his inhibitions and enjoyed the sight of blood too much to let up. He squirmed and bit his knuckles, etching dashed lines into his fingers.

“You squirmed too much, it isn't as good as it could be, but it'll do the job. R-E-E-K. Reek. Good thing I didn't misspell.” Ramsay noted, his tongue lapping at the spilled blood. He wiped his mouth with his hand, smearing a line of red across his cheek, faded out to pink, to peach.

“That color looks good on you,” Theon said, as casual as could be for a bleeding boy in the bed of Ramsay Bolton. “Red and pink. Goes well with your eyes.”

Ramsay looked down, and for an instance Theon thought he might blush. The thought was stupid, he knew, but just for a half second Ramsay looked like a man in love.

* * *

“Open the fucking door, Theon!” Robb Stark banged his fists against he metal apartment door. Kicking, screaming, furious he slammed his elbows and forearms on it.

“Theon, it's Jeyne and Robb!” Jeyne screamed through cupped hands. “We talked to Jon, he told us we need to take you to the counselor.”

Theon walked into the living room, his skin burning from last night's mark. Ramsay was out at his one class of the day. (What class? It occurred to Theon that he didn't even know, Ramsay rarely divulged information about his academics. Whenever he asked, he simply ignored him or told him not to fret.) He slipped the musty, sweaty shirt over his chest.

_You have to make Robb Stark hate you._

He unlatched the lock and peered through he peephole. Robb was a mess, that much was true. His hair was unwashed and tangled, his beard had grown out patchy and unkempt. Usually Robb was fastidious about his appearance, he kept a comb in his pocket for god's sakes. The man was never seen without aftershave and cologne on, and was rarely without his designer black skinny jeans. But the Robb on the other side of the door was in baggy sweatpants and a pullover school sweater, the Winterfell direwolf faded against the sigil. Jeyne was huddled in a large coat, her face paler than usual and sallow.

Theon opened the door, trying to hide the edges of a smile. His best friend, he hadn't seen him in so long. The friend who cared for him, cooked him curries, held his hair back after one too many drinks, the friend he loved more than his own family.

“Theon!” Robb's arms were around him before he could say hello, squeezing tight. “Theon, you asshole!” Yet, he was laughing, smiling. Jeyne clasped her hands together and gasped, her toothy grin a sight to see. Theon chuckled. He missed her too, he missed her making corny playlists for Robb and showing Theon pictures of cats on her phone. He missed the both of them, even when they were arm in arm and kissing publicly in diners. “I was so worried, please don't ever do that again. Please.”

“Theon, are you alright?” Jeyne clasped him on the back. “Robb's been sick with fear. Jon says he saw you with bruises all over your arm.”

The comment ignited Robb, he stepped back for a second to scan Theon. There were some leftover bruises and scratches on his arms, nothing too major, but he knew they were visible. He wished the shirt had long sleeves. Theon pulled at the edges, trying to hide a dark purple welt given to him by Ramsay's belt.

“Please, I'm fine. Please.”

Robb cringed. “Take off your shirt. Lift it up. Come on.”

He shook his head, his eyes watering.

“No, no, please. Robb, you don't understand.”

“Lift it up. Theon, don't make me do this. I've been suspicious ever since you ran up to me in Tequila Joe's. Something's going on with Ramsay, isn't it? He's been hurting you. He hurt you that night, didn't he? You don't have to hide.” Robb ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed.

Theon let himself cry, he huddled his body up into an accordion and cried. _You have to make Robb Stark hate you—hate you as much as you love him._

“No, he didn't. He didn't hurt me that night. I—me—it was actually,” The confession wouldn't come. _I am worse than Ramsay, I deserve all this pain, it makes me better, I deserved it all._

Theon had daydreamed about Robb's hand pulling up his shirt a thousand times a week for years, but he never thought he would shout no at his hands. Robb did it fast, against the pleading to stop.

“Theon, it's for your own good!”

He had heard that before.

“I'm not Theon, not anymore,” he sobbed out, trying to fold his hands over his bruised and battered body. Robb pulled the shirt over Theon's head and threw it on the ground. “I'm Reek! I'm Reek!” He shook, cowered over, hoping Robb didn't see the burn mark or his new name scarred between his hips.

“Robb, I'm really worried,” Jeyne whispered. “Ramsay's doing this, we need to get him out of here and back to your apartment.”

“No!” Theon screamed, flailing his arms out. He struck Robb with a panicked hand. “No, you aren't taking me anywhere, if he comes home and finds that I'm gone--”

“I'm calling Asha,” Jeyne reached for her phone.

Theon panicked. He shoved Jeyne back, grabbed her phone and threw it against a wall. The screen cracked. “No, please, please don't call anyone. Please, I'm begging you.”

“Theon!” _Robb Stark has to hate me, Robb has to hate me just as much as I love him, Robb Stark has to hate me._

“Get out, get out of here! I want you gone. I like being with Ramsay. I'm in love with him. That's all that's happening, I'm in love with him, and I don't want to spend time with you.” His jaw shook with every word, helplessly. “You're an asshole, you're an ugly asshole and Jeyne is pathetic to love you. I hate you Robb, I have for a long while, I've been using for you alcohol and weed.”

Robb shook his head, tutting. “He's making you say this. I know you Theon, come on. I'm your best friend, I know when you're lying.”

Theon sighed, letting go of his body. He bared it all. “...I'm sorry Jeyne. I will pay for a screen replacement.”

“Honestly, it's okay,” she squeaked out, and Theon knew in her voice she meant it. She scooped up the phone and shook it, smiling. “I'm due for an upgrade in a month, please don't worry. Let's get you to Robb's. I'll buy you a drink tomorrow after this blows over. Tequila Joe's?”

He nodded, ashamed at how much he was crying. A worthless child, still. He couldn't make Robb hate him, Robb was incapable of hate. Robb disliked waking up early and traffic. He disliked professors who were late to class and going to bed early. Robb Stark had no capacity for hate, and perhaps, that simplicity is what Theon loved about him. He was solid, a constant note of optimism.

“Robb, I love you.”

“I love you too, man.”

_No, not in the way that I mean._

Robb's face screwed up. He picked up Theon's shirt and handed it to him, the cotton wet with the accumulation of sweat.

“Theon, this shirt reeks, let's get you another one. Robb chuckled, already walking to Theon's room to get a new shirt. “What color do you want? Black? I mean, do you even own shirts that aren't just old bands or ironic logos?”

Theon smirked. Robb and Jeyne, too naive to know the truth when it was looking them in the eye, naked and trembling. He followed him into his room and took a clean shirt from his dresser. It felt so good on his skin, warm and freshly clean—lavender and detergent. “Take some clothes, get a bag, we are staying at my place until we sort this mess out, okay?” Robb grabbed some of Theon's notebooks and put them into a pile. “I'll get your blanket and pillow, don't worry about it. I am an expert packer, Dad makes me pack for Arya, Sansa, Bran and Rickon whenever we go on vacation.”

Hearing the Stark names filled Theon with homesickness. How many summers had he spent with the Starks, staying up all night watching movies and popping corn?

“There's a gym bag in the living room, hold on, I'll go get it.” Theon touched the REEK mark under his shirt. It was already scabbing, but he felt it was too deep to heal fully. It would scar for sure, a reminder.

_A reminder, a reminder, a reminder of your new name._

“Robb!” Jeyne screamed from the living room as soon as Theon entered. Ramsay stood in the doorway, he dumped his backpack on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Ramsay asked.

“Robb, Robb, he's home!”

Theon's feet were iron, shackles, a ball and chain. He couldn't move.

Robb ran out. Upon seeing Ramsay, he flew forward, fists pounding on Ramsay's back. “You asshole, you asshole I know what you're doing!” Robb screamed, his throat full of thorns.Theon felt sick, he slid down into a ball, covered his face with his hands and watched through his splayed fingers. “Reek, Reek, Reek, I'm Reek,” he muttered, barely aware of his surroundings. In summers, he often passed out, lost his vision and had to lay down. He had never had the sensation from fear alone, but now it felt pleasant to disappear. _Maybe I will pass out and never wake up, maybe Ramsay will kill me and I will have deserved it._

“You think Theon is such a helpless little precious thing?” Ramsay deflected Robb's punches. “Perhaps he should tell you about what happened at the bar that night.”

_Maybe I will pass out and I will wake up in a bar bathroom, naked and aching._

“You fucking hurt him.” Robb pulled Jeyne close in towards him. She clasped into his chest, covering her face with her long brown hair. “You raped him, you sick bastard, I know it. The way he ran out, the way he came out of that bathroom.”

Ramsay laughed.

_Maybe I will pass out and when I wake Robb Stark will hate me._

“Theon raped someone.” The heaviness of the blunt words crushed Theon's chest. “He was passed out drunk. I found them. That's why Theon is hiding and hurting himself, because he's a dirty rapist who can't make it to class. I could tell my President father, I have photographic evidence. And if he ever does anything like it again, they're going straight to him. I could get him kicked out of Winterfell.”

Robb's head swiveled to Theon, a mess of his former self on the floor.

“Is this true?”

Theon nodded, hating himself.

“But Ramsay's blackmailing him,” Jeyne muttered into Robb's shoulder.

“But he's a rapist.” Robb's eyes usually shone when he looked at Theon. They were hard as coal.

“Robb I--” _I'm not hurting myself? Ramsay lied? What does that matter though, he told the truth where it matters._

“Who was it?”

“Robb, it was an accident, it was--”

“Who was it Theon?” His voice rarely rose above calm.

Ramsay crossed his arms, greatly amused by the schism before him.

“...Satin.” He didn't even know his name until Ramsay told him, didn't even know if that was really it or not.

“Jon's friend?”

The floor fell to pieces, the walls to geometric shapes. Theon was ready to retch.

“My cousin Jon's best fucking friend, Satin? The reason he transferred to Winterfell to room with him? You raped him? He's harmless! He fucking bakes Jon a cake every year and wants to illustrate children's books!” Robb's face went red.

“Please don't tell Jon, I didn't know. I didn't know they were friends. I didn't even know who he was, he just saw me and started talking to me.”

“Because Jon probably told him about you, just because I talk about you so much. Poor kid probably had a crush on you, god dammit Theon! I know you've done some scummy things, stealing shit from the student center and cheating on exams. But I never thought you were a rapist scum. I never thought you'd stoop this low.”

“Robb, please. I'm sorry, I never wanted to, I never meant to!” Theon rocked back and forth. _You have to make Robb Stark hate you._ “I love you, I really meant it, I'm in love with you. Not as a friend, honestly. I think about you all the time.”

“I'm with Jeyne.”

“I know, I know, I know!”

“I'm with Jeyne, and you need to get over me Theon. I don't even know you anymore.” Robb stroked Jeyne's hand and led her towards the door. “Don't call me. Don't come round. You aren't welcome there anymore.”

“Robb, please!” Snot ran down his face.

“Ramsay. Tell your father. Kick him out.” Robb nodded at him. “I'm sorry we burst in here. I thought it was something else.”

Ramsay grunted. “No worries. Get home safe.”

He closed the door behind them and locked it, grinning wide.

Theon fell onto the cold floor, hugging his knees into his body. His sobs were wet and desperate, Robb's name still in his throat like a lozenge. “I love you, I love you,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I love you, I'm so sorry, I love you.”

“Are you talking to me or him?” Ramsay prodded Theon with his boot.

Theon didn't answer.

 


	8. KING'S BLOOD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay has one final plan left to ruin his Reek--and it involves his dear ex-friend Robb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more tie-up chapter after this, everyone! I want to wrap it up and move on to one-offs for a while. I should be writing more of my own stuff, but I'm thankful for everyone who helped me get through my first big fanfic. It was an undertaking, and I did it to grease my gears so I could go back to working on my novel. I feel ready now and I look forward to finishing this and seeing what other short Thramsay pieces i can do! I had a lot of fun, and I'm glad this thing that started AS A JOKE (!!!!!) between my boyfriend, girlfriend and I got so many fans. Vincent & Regina, you two were the best inspirations I could have ever had, and this entire fic is just filled to the brim with love for you guys. Thank you everyone who reads and comments so much! I hope my future fics will be even better! I have a few more ideas, but they aren't AUs. :)

**EIGHT: KING'S BLOOD**

“Theon Greyjoy, you are going to have to withdraw from this class if you don't want to fail. A 'W' on your transcript isn't the worst thing, and it's better than letting your GPA take a drop,” the professor absentmindedly packed up her books. Most of the class had already left, but Theon wished she had waited until the room was totally empty. He knew Jon was still there, slowly packing up his messenger bag and glancing up, trying to listen in.

“There's nothing I can make up? Write an extra essay?” Reek was never the best student, but a withdrawl would mean he had to take an extra class next semester. He knew he wouldn't have the mental stamina for that, he barely did now. _Reek is only good at one thing._

“I can't make exceptions for everyone, Theon. If you were having an actual crisis, or a health problem, then we could work something out.”

_And who says I'm not?_

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Jon's black sweater. He wasn't leaving, he was listening in, wasn't he? Surely Robb told him everything. It had been two weeks since the event and sure enough, the texts from Robb had stopped cold. He expected nothing else, honestly.

“Theon, I'd work with you on this, but you know,” his professor huffed. “You show up in rumpled clothes, half asleep, sometimes not at all. School isn't time for partying every night.”

His face paled. “You think I just miss class because I'm a slacker, don't you? You think I'm hungover and throwing up in my dorm, right? Or waking up in some chick's apartment and trying to find my underwear? You don't know a damn thing.”

The professor stared blank.

“You want to see my bruises? You want to see my cuts? Does anyone in this damn school give a shit that I show up in the same fucking clothes every day? Has anyone listened to me when I said I needed help? I go to student services and say I need to change roommates and what happens, they don't do a damn thing. Fuck you, fuck yourself, I'll withdraw and take it with a different professor next semester. If I'm alive that long,” Reek couldn't stop. What did he have left to lose? She'd never believe him anyway, a boy who cries wolf, a boy who deserves what he got.

Reek turned his back on his professor and shuffled out the room, not caring that Jon and a few more lingering students were gaping wide mouthed at him. _Let them talk. Let them tell everyone. No one will help Reek. Reek wouldn't deserve it._

He made a beeline for the apartment, knowing Ramsay was home.

Reek had never understood self-injury. Sure he had hit himself a few times in a fit of rage and used to think it was cool to put out cigarettes on his arm—all just a lot of bravado to show off to Robb, if he was being honest. But real self-injury, it escaped him. How could pain heal? How could it be cathartic to hurt?

_Is it self-injury when you want someone else to do it for you?_

With haste, Reek unlocked the door, threw his backpack on the chair and pushed open Ramsay's door.

“I have to withdraw from a class because I'm such a fuck up,” he spoke with haste. “I don't care what you do. Just hurt me.”

Ramsay looked up from his laptop, his legs crossed at the edge of his bed.

“Well Reek, this is something new.”

“Just do it. Knives, burning, drowning, whatever. Take your pick. Slap me, hit me, choke me, punch me in the face, do something. Do something, please. I deserve it, I deserve it all.” His mouth always ran like a hot tire when he was upset. “Do it, come on, I'll beg, I'll get on my knees, I'll show you how much I deserve it. Use your belt, your hands, anything. Your fists!”

Ramsay closed his laptop and unceremoniously slid it under his bed. “You shouldn’t walk in on a man when he's on his laptop, you know.”

“Oh like I fucking care if I see you jacking off to porn.”

“Wasn't looking at porn. I was actually doing homework, but it seems you don't know what that means if you're flunking so badly that you have to withdraw.”

Reek flinched. He had been neglecting schoolwork, but who could blame him? He hadn't showed up to his on campus job since, God, he couldn't even remember. In his mailbox he was sure there were a dozen complaints by his boss, and more than likely a notice of dismissal.

“Can't your dad do something for me?”

“Why would he do that?” Ramsay shrugged, pulling on his shirt collar.

“Because he's your dad.”

“Mine, not yours.”

“But I--” he paused. _Aren't I your victim, your toy, your pet, your something?_ “Robb would for me.”

Ramsay laughed. He had expected anger, he wanted those hands on him so fast, he wanted to be hit and bruised and battered and torn in half like a dying animal. But Ramsay only laughed, a genuine sweetness to his chuckling.

“You're trying so hard to get me to hurt you, Reek.”

He nodded, ashamed that he needed it so badly. He needed to bleed, to go purple, to have his hair ripped from the root, to stink of fear, to spill his organs out over Ramsay's arms.

“Hurting you isn't going to cut it anymore. You want to hurt. What good is doing something that you want?”

_Then kill me, make it_ _irreversible._

Reek ran a hand across his body, nervously. He found himself pawing at his REEK cut during classes a lot, eager to rip off the scabs and make it scar. As Ramsay threw on a coat and boots, Theon tore of another bit of scab, right around the curve in the R.

“Come,” Ramsay threw a jacket at his pet.

“Where are we going?”

“Just come on. You'll have to give me directions though. Though I think I know where it is. My friend Damon lived nearby when he went to Winterfell.”

“Lived where?”

“Where your dear old boyfriend Robb Stark lives.” Ramsay taunted, his car keys already jangling in his fist. “Get in the car, I have a few more things to grab.”

Reek balled up his fists. “I can't go there, he hates me. He doesn't want to see me, it's over, I fucked up, I fucked up so bad.”

Ramsay lifted Reek by the chin and pecked a soft kiss on his lips. “Reek, Reek, Reek. Don't you want to see your boyfriend Robb one more time?”

He shook his head.

Ramsay kissed him fiercer, his tongue sneaking in and licking Reek's uneven teeth.

“What is your favorite part about your appearance?” Ramsay whispered.

It used to be his grin. Everyone said it was devilish, a slick comma. Reek couldn't think of a single part of his body that he liked right now though. Everything felt bloody and bruised, his collarbones peaked out of the skin more now, and his pants were fitting him looser. He never weighed himself, but he could tell from the next notch on his belt that he was losing weight. His once full cheeks were growing jaunt, his chest seemed smaller. Always a wiry thing, Reek hated it, his rib cage was too pronounced, he felt too fragile when he touched himself, like the wrong grip would crush him. Perhaps that was what Ramsay would finally do, just break all his bones like a baby bird, all in one squeeze of his meaty fists.

“N-nothing, not any more.”

“No? Your eyes? Your nose? Your lips? Nothing?”

Ramsay kissed him again, his chapped lips flaked.

“My....my jawline.” He guessed, just naming a part. “I like my chin.”

“It would be a shame if it were disfigured. A good profile is the standard of a handsome man, isn't it? That's what women like, a nice strong jaw.” Ramsay ran a hand across Reek's pronounced Adam's apple, teasingly. “There's a reason villains are often weak-chinned. I took a Shakespeare class, yes, don't smirk, I saw that. You know Richard III? Ugly, hunchbacked thing he was. Are you listening Reek?”

Reek nodded, burying his head into Ramsay's chest. _Hurt me, just get it over with it, make me bleed, give me what I deserve._

“Making a character deformed or ugly was shorthand at the time to say a character was evil. It was believed that disfigurement was a manifestation of internal ugliness. Now Reek, I know I'm not the most handsome man in the lot, but at least all my features are where they need to be. My father told me once of a dwarf he met without a nose—what an ugly thing. People like that are to be pitied, Reek. Worthless. Why live if every time you look in the mirror you're reminded that you're not even human? I'd kill myself, wouldn't you? I'd rather die than walk down the streets and feel people staring at me. One quick bullet to the head, pow. Make the corpse unrecognizable so the coroner wouldn't even bother trying to reconstruct me.” Ramsay ran a hand through Reek's dark hair. “Your hair is growing dull, are you taking vitamins?”

Startled, Reek looked up. “Is it?”

“You look sick. How long do you think it'll be until you look like an ugly hunchback? How long until children cry when they see you, until women point at you and laugh? That doesn't happen to handsome men. Handsome men get hired more often, get paid more. They skate through life a lot easier. That's just the way our world works. You and your brittle hair won't get as far as Robb Stark and his curls.”

He bit his lip. Hadn't that always been the way? Women always liked Robb. Children always laughed and played with Robb. If someone stopped them both to ask for directions, they'd always ask Robb. Professors preferred Robb even if they did the same on exams.

“Attractive people get by easier in life,” He rubbed his head closer into Ramsay. His shirt was soft. “But I'm not ugly. Some men and women have liked me, I think I'm an acquired taste.” All the lies that he told himself over the years, he nearly believed it was true.

“Then why did Robb not fuck you?” Ramsay grabbed Theon's hand and led it down towards his pocket. Prepared to feel a hard cock, Theon jolted when he felt the cool of Ramsay's knife in his pocket.

“What is this for?”

“Reek,” Ramsay's pupils never widened or contracted, he noticed. They stayed the same constantly, as if light could not even sway him. He was a monster, Theon thought, he was truly a monster. And he lived with him, slept with him, needed him in some sickening way. He smiled, spit still shiny on his too large teeth. “Don't you want to make Robb Stark deformed?”

He thought of that red hair, the smile with perfectly even teeth (thank you Eddard Stark for splurging on braces), the lean muscle in his upper arms.

“Robb Stark hates you, Reek. He'd do the same to you if he could.”

“No, no he wouldn't.” Those wide veiny hands. Those pale, slightly too large feet. That long, arching neck.

Ramsay pressed Reek's hand closer towards his cock. He was hard, just as Theon expected. He took him in his hand, outside of his jeans, squeezed and felt whole.

“He'd cut up your face and spit on you if he could. If he had the balls, he would. He thinks about it every night, I'm sure. He hates you Reek, he hates you more than you've ever loved him. Do you think he ever even loved you? Did he just use you for cheap beer and weed? Did he kiss Jeyne in front of you on purpose? You were never his, you could never be Robb's. He wouldn't let you.”

“He invited me over to Christmases with his family,” Reek babbled, not sure what he was believing. “He liked me. He liked me some.”

“He was mocking you Reek, he knew you never belonged. Harder, touch me more. Get me off before we go. I want to cum to the sight of you cutting up Robb's pretty freckled face.”

He squeezed his hard cock harder, barely aware of what he was doing.

“Robb Stark hates you. He despises you.”

“I know.”

“He wants you dead.”

“I know.”

Ramsay grabbed Reek by the shoulders.

“What do you have left to lose?”

Nothing.

“You're probably going to fail out of school. You have no prospects. No friends.”

Nothing.

“You have me.”

Nothing.

“Are you ready Reek?”

Reek nodded.

* * *

The doorbell didn't work. Reek knocked.

“That was wimpy. Harder.” Ramsay scoffed, rapping his fist on the door. “You're here to scare him, put some fear in his heart. Do you think Robb's ever felt fear? I doubt it. You're going to show him, pet.”

_Rip me apart, chew on me, turn my nerves to floss, just kill me._

“Yes, m'lord.”

There was a few seconds of silence—just long enough for Reek to begin to question himself. He thought of birthdays when Robb made him shitty cake from a box, forgot to add water and ended up with a brown rock slathered in icing. Smirking a bit, he remembered when Robb got so drunk that he threw up on his own jeans, sweaty and swearing. What a mess, it was such a mess, yet he helped clean him up without too much complaining.

Robb came to the door, still in sweatpants, hair a mess. Had he been sleeping? Why was he not in class? Reek only had a moment to study the bags under Robb's eyes and asses how palid his face was. There was no sleep behind those eyes, he looked worse than he did two weeks ago.

“Get away from here,” Robb croaked out, his voice all grit and sandpaper. Reek swiveled his head, wondering briefly if he meant him or Ramsay. It was unmistakable. He knew the answer.

“I--” He choked. _Reek is good at one thing, that thing is not speaking._

Ramsay shoved past Reek and licked his incisors playfully. “Robb, Theon here has something to say to you.”

“I don't have anything to say to him anymore.”

“Come on, let's have a sit down, just as friends. What a nice little kitchen you have in here. Now, this isn't so bad. I wish my father let me rent one of these, but you know how it is. He wants me to remain humble while at Winterfell, and all that bullshit.” Ramsay pulled Reek by his arm into Robb's apartment. “Great, good. Now come on Theon, say what you have to say.” He kicked the door closed behind him before Robb could protest.

Robb rolled his eyes. “Ramsay, I appreciate you trying to get us to make up but it's just not going to happen. I think it's best if Theon and I just finish the school year and go off on our separate ways.”

Ramsay kicked out a chair and sat on it, his whole body limp and taking up more space than needed. He leaned back, the legs of the chair precarious. “Is that so? So fast? What sort of friendship is that, huh? God, if Damon disowned me for all the stupid shit I did, well. We wouldn’t have made it past the first night of knowing each other.”

Peeling at his skin, Reek refused to look up.

“This place really is nice though, sorry, I can't stop saying it. It's about the double the size of the campus apartments. Way to go, Stark,” Ramsay looked around the kitchen, smirking. “Open design, nice, nice. That's always good.”

Robb scoffed. “Oh come on, it's not that great.”

“No, no really. Our place is cramped as hell. What do the bedrooms look like?” Ramsay stood up and let himself into Robb's bedroom. It was a wreck. Clothes everywhere. Books strewn across the room. Reek glanced in, afraid of the mess. So unlike Robb, he was ordered and careful most of the time, planning his outfits out the morning before and packing his backpack every night with the appropriate books and assignments.

“Please, my place is a mess, I don't want you to see me like this,” Robb sounded nothing but worn down, too resigned to do much. “It's a tough semester so far.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Reek whispered, unsure if Robb could hear.

“Reek.” Ramsay spat the word like a command on a dog. The name change startled him, jolted his lungs together.

Reek knew Ramsay was strong, but had he pitted Robb against him in his mind, he wasn't sure who would win. At his best, Robb was lean was fast. He could sprint a few miles without slowing down, did well in competitive sports, and looked damn good pumping those legs while doing so. Ramsay was all about size and brute force, a slow mover, slow thinker, all around just burly mass. On the spot to make a choice, ordinarily Reek would have put twenty on Robb to outwit and outmaneuver Ramsay. He would be quick and cunning, probably tired him out or use his size against him.

But that would be Robb at his best.

Ramsay grabbed Robb by the hips and flung him onto the bed like a doll. He barely screamed, too tired, too depressed, too resigned to his fate to do much. Reek recognized that, he knew that limp body language. Is it self injury if you let someone else do it to you? Putting all his weight atop Robb, Ramsay clamped him down on the dirty bed, pushing his wrists into the flat mattress.

“Reek! Grab the knife out of my pocket.”

He didn't think his hands could even worked if he wanted them too.

“Theon, what the fuck is going on!” Robb screamed, though it was mostly out of confusion rather than fear. He didn't even struggle, he hands were dying starfish instead of fists. His legs were wet and tired, not kicking and fighting like Reek imagined he would be. “Just get him off me, please. I don't want this, I don't have time for this. Whatever you did to Satin, I don't want to be a part of it.”

Reek moved over to the bed slowly.

“Doesn't seeing Robb helpless turn you on, Reek? You could touch his cock right now if you wanted. I'll move my leg out of the way if you want to suck it. Is he ginger all over? I bet you've wondered.” Ramsay leaned over and kissed Robb once on the forehead, just a small peck, an exaggerated wet smooch. “Pretty little boy, he isn't even trying. He wants it.”

“I don't, I really don't.” Robb's lip flared. “Get off, I'm too tired for this. You guys have no idea what's been going on here, you don't even care. Theon, you don't even care!”

Reek shook his head. “I do care.”

“Rape him Reek, he'd be easier than Satin. A passed out boy is more difficult than just a sad, limp one.” Ramsay pressed his mouth to Robb's neck and sucked. Robb barely registered it, just stared off blankly at the ceiling, his lips curled downward.

“I don't fucking care what you do with me, to be honest,” Robb spat. “Rape me, hurt me, I don't fucking care anymore. Who cares, who the fuck cares. Just do it!”

Reek trembled. Robb always cared, he cared about everything. The damn boy cared about every cause, big or small. Fundraisers, marches, money raising for charity, Robb always cared. Ramsay was moving faster now, grinding his hips against Robb, moving his mouth to his shoulders, leaving trails of inpatient spit.

“What happened Robb?” Reek asked, powerless. He was limp, watching Ramsay do what he had always dreamed of doing. Yet, seeing Robb helpless did nothing for him. He wanted him to reciprocate, him limp and upset did nothing for him. “I do care.”

Ramsay slapped Robb across the face. “Reek, listen to you master, get over here and drop your pants. Fuck his tight asshole and cut up his face. I want to cum on him, desecrate him.” Robb grunted, finally trying to shove Ramsay off of him.

“My, my--” he struggled, the tears finally coming out in hot bursts of anxiety. “Please get off of me! Please!” He screeched, trying to move his legs out from under Ramsay's strong calves. “My—my father died! My father is fucking dead and--” Robb's head dropped to the pillow and he burst out into heavy sobs, rendering his speech incomprehensible. All Reek could hear was the word father uttered again and again, each time it sounded less and less real.

Grabbing his necklace, Ramsay undid the clasp and shoved the bone in Robb's mouth.

“Bite on it and shut up about your stupid father,” Ramsay growled, unbuckling his pants. Robb coughed and spat it out.

“You think I care what happens to me now? I don't, nothing matters. Rape me, hurt me, turn me into Theon, who cares!” He wept harder, turning his head, not facing Ramsay. He shoved the necklace back into his mouth.

“I said bite down. Reek, I thought Robb was loyal. He's putting up more of a fight than you. You were too easy to break.” Pulling out the knife from his pocket, he tossed it towards Reek.

His red hands caught it, the metal was so heavy and real. Everything felt too real. The weight of his body hung from his bones, his hair felt too much on his head. Even his toenails felt wrong, like nothing should be attached to him, that if he pulled them out he'd be freed from his body. _End this, someone end this, please._ Reek thought, running his hands across his neck, feeling the goosebumps like braile. He wondered what his skin could spell out—be it screams of terror or resignation. _End this, someone come in and end this._

Ramsay's pants were pulled down. He shoved thumbs under Robb's sweatpants and flipped him over.

“Reek come get a look at your boyfriend's ass. Surprisingly small, I have to say.” Ramsay's slapped it, his nails digging into flesh, drawing blood. He lifted a finger up to his mouth and sucked. “Tastes better than my Reek's. King's blood.”

_Someone has to end this._ Reek gripped the knife handle.

“Come cut up your boyfriend, I bet he likes that. Kinky fucker, are you?” Ramsay inserted a finger into Robb's ass, dry and painful. Robb moaned, thrashing, making the loudest most pained scream Reek had heard him make, until Ramsay's fist met his jaw. He punched him solid, a loud crack, another yelp, and then silence. “What if I break his jaw? Remember what we talked about Reek? Facial trauma is very hard to fix. Pretty boy Robb would walk around with a busted up face for the rest of his life. Jeyne wouldn't that very much.” He inserted another finger, rocking back and forth. Robb cried silently, his sheets dark with tears and a newly formed spray of blood. His mouth and jaw were bleeding, a steady rush of pain. “Come, cut and fuck your boyfriend before he's deformed and unlovable. Take him while he's still pretty.”

Reek edged towards the bed, the knife cocked out.

“Use a finger or lose a finger,” Ramsay snarled, grabbing Reek by the fist, pulling him close to Robb's naked thighs. “Look, his ass is bleeding too. Was Robb a little virgin? That's rich.” He pressed Reek's finger to Robb's entrance, feeling it in circles. Robb whimpered, not out of pleasure, but out of humiliation, fear, degradation. Ramsay bit Reek on the shoulder. “Do it I'll use that knife on you. Do it or I'll disfigure you instead. Wouldn't take much to make you untouchable. You're practically there already.”

_Is it self-injury if someone does it for you?_

Reek pushed Ramsay's arm. “Then cut me.”

He didn't need to beg. Ramsay grabbed the knife from Reek and jabbed it under his jaw. “Fuck him, I said. Drop your pants.”

The blade was sharp, he felt a few droplets of blood ache out from under his jaw.

“Just do it Reek, it's nothing you haven't done before.” Ramsay chuckled over Robb's quieting sobs. He wasn't thrashing anymore, he was as broken as he had been at the beginning. Where did Reek learn that when an animal think it's dying it lashes out, but when it knows it's dying it lays down and accepts it? Ramsay dragged the blade across Reek's jaw. “Is one scar not enough?” He flinched. The blade started again, working its way from Reek's ear down towards his chin. Ramsay dug in deeper, holding Reek by the back of his head. “Two? Still not ugly enough for you?” Reek groaned and tried to shake his head. Ramsay put the blade down and nodded. “Do it Reek. You've dream of it so many times, now he's here, he's yours.” Robb tilted his head up, bloody from the mouth down, eyes wide and begging.

“Give me the knife,” Reek touched Robb's thigh. Sweat covered his entire leg.

Ramsay handed it over with glee, his cock still hard and thick. He pawed at it, eyes alit with lust. “Cut the pretty boy, my sweetling. Cut him and fuck him.”

Reek put the blade lightly across Robb's thigh and swallowed. It wouldn't take much to cut the skin, just a little bit, wasn't that all Ramsay wanted? Just some bloodshed to jack off to? It would only take a few minutes, just a few drags of a blade and a few quick pumps of his hips.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Lifted the blade and stabbed himself quick in the arm.

It was obvious it would hurt, but somehow Reek didn't expect it to hurt quite as much as it did. The puncture wound went straight through, he struggled to pull the blade back out from his skin. He screamed, howled, took the blade again and it ran it across his arms, yelling bloody murder like a stuck pig.

Robb panicked, lifted himself from the bed and scrambled out of the room, ankles free from his pants. Ramsay watched in horror, screaming over and over again.

“Reek, Reek! What are you doing? Stop!” Ramsay grabbed him by the arms, but Reek tore away, the blade cascading across his wrists.

“End it! Kill me! Just kill me!” He screamed and screamed, his body too heavy, too real, everything too horrible and true. “Just kill me then!” Ramsay kicked him, grabbed the knife and threw it across the room. Looking down at his pet, he gaped. His arms were bloody, gashed open and raw.

From the other room they both heard Robb scream into his phone for an ambulance.

Theon smiled.

“Ramsay Bolton, when the ambulance comes what will this look like?”

“A suicide attempt, you dumb fucking fuck. I still have the pictures.”

Theon lifted up his shaking arms, not caring what happened to him after. He could die in the ambulance for all he cared, go to jail for hurting Satin, drop out of school. It didn't matter. The only real thing was Robb's voice in the other room, hastily screaming out his apartment address.

“I don't care. I don't even care,” the blood-loss was so much. He knew he would survive of course, but his arms would be scarred, a disfigured mess.

“You tricked me,” Ramsay hissed through bared teeth.

“Reek deserves to die,” he gasped out, closing his eyes. The ambulance would arrive soon. Ramsay kicked him hard, the steel toe of his boots meeting right between the rib cages, turned and ran. Theon heard the car star, peel out and disappear down the street.

Robb cautiously wandered in, covering himself up with his cupped hands.

“Theon,” he gasped out.

Theon looked up, shaky and pale. “I deserve to die, Robb. I deserve to die.”

Robb knelt down beside his friend and held him close in his arms. He kissed the top of his head and didn't let go until the ambulance arrived.

 


	9. A BOY'S TEARS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons are confronted and put to rest.

 

NINE: A BOY'S TEARS

 

Theon fiddled with the hospital bracelet on his wrist. GREYJOY, THEON. Not Reek, not anymore. It was easy to remember his name when it was attached to him. It was his third day of inpatient and Robb was coming to visit him today. He was hungry for attention from someone other than a nurse or therapist. His father had only come once, stared at him for a few seconds and sat in silence at the edge of the bed. His sister never showed, his relatives never called. But Robb—Robb would be different. Pacing in the main corridor, Theon kept glancing at the caged clock. It was nearly three. Any moment now, any moment.

“Robb!” He shouted out at the figure in the doorway at the end of the wing. Robb forced a smile back and gave a weak wave. The bags under his eyes were heavy and light purple. “God, I'm so happy to see you. The food in this place is shit, even shittier than Winterfell buffet food.”

They hugged and a nurse raised her eyebrow behind them. “Greyjoy, it's nearly time for sharps hour. Do you need to shave?” She asked, loading up the dinner trays.

Theon shook his head and ran a hand across his scratchy face. “I don't want anything sharp near me for a while, to be honest.” The two smirked but it didn't feel quite right. His face didn't ache mid-smile like it used to.

Robb sat with his friend in the common room, trying not to feel uncomfortable. Neither of them had ever been a psychiatric ward before and believed the nightmares from outdated movies and novels. On intake, Theon was scared, though he wouldn't admit it anyone. After what he had been through with Ramsay, it seemed silly to be afraid of a hospital, but yet the sounds of the machines and the constant blood pressure checks startled him. He was assigned a psychiatrist and was staring a new medication, one he had seen corny commercials for and used to mock between pints of beer. The hospital was sparsely decorated and the fluorescent lighting hurt Robb's eyes. He shielded his face and leaned across the Formica table.

“I withdrew from my classes today. I'm taking a semester or two off. With dad gone, I just can't do it right now. My mom and sisters and brother need me home.” He touched Theon's knuckle and smirked. “I guess you're not going back for a while too, huh?”

“I met with a social worker yesterday and yeah, they're gonna put me in an intensive outpatient program after this. It's like, five hours of group therapy a day, and they're pulling me out of school on medical leave. I'm gonna be so full of therapy that I could just die—I mean, shit I can't say that here. I'm gonna be sick to death. Fuck!” He laughed, the first real laugh in what felt like ages.

“Don't kill yourself over it, Theon,” Robb joked back as Theon waved his hands exasperated, hoping none of the nurses heard. “Hope you don't hang yourself from boredom while you're here.” Seeing Robb smile, even at an off-color joke was too good to be real, he lit up the place with those perfectly aligned teeth.

“I'd rather drink bleach than go back to that apartment right now though,” Theon closed his mouth, suddenly serious. He stared at Robb's ginger curls and bright eyes, a stone dropping from his heart. He was here, barely a foot from him, smiling and joking as if it was still the heady heat of summer. The mark that read REEK still burned, all of him was still sore from Ramsay's pocketknife. He didn't want to think about the name anymore. His father and was going to his apartment to move his belongings back home, and he was ready to be anywhere else. He hadn't told any of the therapists about it all, and to be truthful, he didn't think he ever would. To admit it was to make it real. Not even Robb knew the half of it. “Can we pact? Right here, right now?” Robb nodded, solemn. “I don't think I want to talk about what happened. Not now. I don't want to press charges, I don't want to do a damned thing. I just want to wake up and pretend it didn't happen.”

“Is that healthy—I mean, what happened there Theon? What the hell happened to you?” Robb kept rubbing Theon's knuckle. His skin turned white with tautness.

He shook his head and stared at the poster behind Robb about coping mechanisms. The poster was full of shit, listing yoga and healthy eating as ways to battle depression. He wanted to tear the damn thing down, unconvinced that a few apples and a downward dog pose would erase the scars on his body and the soreness in his mind.

“I don't want to give the beast a name. It doesn't deserve to be talked about. Something hurt me, it did a damn good job, and that's it. Names give things power. Come to think of it, don't even say the name around me. Ramsay Bolton doesn't exist. Ramsay isn't a he, he isn't a person. He's an it, he's a force, he's an event to get past. And that's that.” He sighed, winded. “Is that a healthy coping mechanism or is it just denial, I don't know. But I don't give a shit. I don't want to talk about what happened to me this semester.”

Robb tried to butt in again, his well-wishing advice never stopped. Theon held up a finger and gave him a stern glare. “Please. Robb.”

“Okay, I won't. I promise. I just want you better, man. This place gives the creeps, you need to get out of here and get home.” Robb glanced back at the poster and rolled his eyes. “Yeah shit, if I could get over my father dying in a car crash by drinking kale smoothies, I'd fucking have done it by now.”

“I'm so thankful for you, Robb. You have no idea.”

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” Robb averted his glance and smiled at the floor, careful not to let his best friend see him cry.

* * *

Ramsay always grew hard from tears. The way a boy's body shudders when he cries is a gift, he mused, watching the thin shoulders heave with sobs. He smirked and moved his hand across the boy's reddened cheek, pushing away the tears.

“Please don't tell anyone, please. Please don't tell, please don't let anyone know it happened. I just want to forget.” he rubbed his nose, snot all over his hand. _Lewd_. Ramsay sneered, leaning back in his bed. The apartment had been so quiet since Theon was admitted into the psychiatric ward for self injury.

Ramsay usually had a plan but the night that Theon was taken away in an ambulance he spent hours driving around town, panicked and unsure if Theon would tell. _Would anyone believe him, especially after the trick he played? Would anyone believe Robb in the aftermath of losing his father?_ Ramsay had played his game too reckless. After emptying his gas tank, he wound up at Tequila Joe's, a familiar place that reminded him of his Reek.

He never bet on seeing the boy there.

When Ramsay found Satin, already elbow deep in the night's two dollar beers, he was hunched over and sick to his stomach, muttering something about Jon and mistakes. The coincidence was too cosmic, too right, _too easy_. Ramsay bought him a drink, asked him what was wrong and offered to drive him back to the campus. Satin threw up in a campus flower bed, and Ramsay redirected the shivering creature back to his apartment.

While Satin was bleary eyed and pale, Ramsay unlocked his phone and swiped to his favorite photo—Theon fucking Satin, eyes closed and cock deep in a naked, limp body. It sent Satin in a fit immediately, balled up fists and tears, moaning and rocking back and forth. He hit the floor, coughing and wheezing, green eyes bulging.

“Please, please delete it, don't show anyone please!”

“And why not?” Ramsay zoomed in on the photo. He had jacked off to it every night since he took it, and knew every pixel by heart. “It's not a bad photo, I'm sure you're proud of your exploits that night. You certainly tried hard enough.”

Satin looked up, eyes so frightened that Ramsay's cock immediately stirred. The fear in a boy's face was one of the sweetest sights, and it could never be replicated artificially. Fear was impossible to pretend, unlike a smile or a frown. Organic and wholesome, it was his favorite sight on a usually composed face.

“I made a mistake, please don't show Jon. I fucked up,” He bit his lip.

 _Jon?_ _And what the hell did he have to do with Theon raping him?_

He played along. _“_ Oh, of course. Jon. But what will you do for me? Why shouldn't I show him?” _Careful Ramsay, you have a delicate glass deer dancing in your hands. Do not drop it._

“I'd do anything! Money, your homework, anything. Please, please, I don't even want Theon like that anymore. It was stupid, it was a stupid crush I had. But he was just a crush, Jon is so much more, I can't lose him, I can't!” He shuddered and dry heaved.

_Your glass deer has an arrow in its side._

Ramsay smoothed Satin's hair and untangled the drunken knots with his fingers. “You love him so much. How long have you been dating?”

“T-two years. I've never done anything like that, I swear it. I wouldn't. I was drunk, I don't even remember much. I remember kissing Theon, and when I woke up I was naked and sore and oh god, oh god, kill me! I didn't think I'd go that far, but apparently I did. I, oh fuck, oh god, I tried to convince myself we didn't fuck, I did, but shit, I woke up naked, we did. We must have. I don't remember, oh Christ, kill me, I didn't know anyone saw.” Satin moaned and writhed, clawing at his face. “I can't lose him, I can't.”

“You've been dishonest.”

“I know, kill me. Just kill me,” He choked and pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes shut tight. “Please, please just kill me.”

_Not so fast, my sweetling._

Satin was so light, Ramsay pulled him up to his bed with minimal effort, hands on the boy's firm hipbones. They fit like a handlebar, ready to be moved and worked how he wanted. Some boys were just sculpted to hurt and use.

“What's another then?” Ramsay bit Satin's neck as the boy cried and shook his head.

“--Jon, no, I. I, no, stop,” he stopped speaking when Ramsay's hand clamped down over it. The murmurs were almost as good as words.

“If you work that mouth like a common slut, then I won't tell your precious Jon the things you've done with Theon Greyjoy.” He snarled and grunted, fingernails digging into the small of Satin's back. “The fuck kind of name is Satin anyway, you just sound like a dandy little toy to be used and tossed aside. You were born to be abused, some pretty things are. It can't be helped.”

Satin's mouth felt better than even Theon's ever had, and he never stopped crying. Ramsay held him by the jaw, feeling the soft stubble around his chin, a smattering of light hairs wet with his precum. His throat was tight and barely took him in. The boy was timid, only sucking gently on the tip at first, until Ramsay cocked his hips further into his mouth, grabbed him by the hair and fucked his face with heavy thrusts. It was clear that it hurt, he tried to jolt his head away and breathed heavily through his nose, sniffling and gagging. The tears made it hard to breathe and once or twice his eyes fluttered white with lack of oxygen. Yet Ramsay kept his hand firm, feeling the top of his neck, fully aware of how easy it would be to crush his windpipe.

“I've always wanted to fuck a boy's guts,” Ramsay gasped, nearly ready to cum. “Just, ah, just rip them out. Let me fuck your empty rib cage,” he laughed, mouth slack with pleasure. Nothing was better than knowing a person was in pain but physically incapable of stopping. Nothing was better than power, ownership. “I'd like to see my cock bloody with you.” Ramsay closed his eyes and tilted his head back, unable to look at the sweet offering before him anymore.

The thing about power is that it is rarely given to a person.

Power through status, family name, money, sexual prowess, position. It's all stolen. Ramsay's breath quickened.

The thing about power is that you have to take it. You have to pretend until every bowing slime around you is convinced that you have it. A game, a trick, magic.

Ramsay Snow came in Satin's mouth, his last thoughts before the denouement were _how could anyone be so stupid to believe that his father was conveniently Roose Bolton._

Creatures were stupid. Toys were stupid. Boys that were born to be abused and fucked by Ramsay Snow, the son of a common Northern man who had never set foot in a college, were stupid. No one ever checked, no one ever doubted him when his cock was down their throats.

 

The End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT IS IT FOLKS. I want to move on to one-offs and a different multichapter thing and I felt it was time to end this story. I had a ton of fun and learned a LOT. Next time I will plan out more and respond to people (haha, but I cherish all your comments). 
> 
> This fic is so silly and started as a joke but now it turned into a full thing that I feel somewhat proud of. Thank you all. I look forward to sharing more fanfic with you guys. Follow me on tumblr @quarkity, I'd love to talk to you all!


End file.
